


Hello Detective

by cutie1365



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-18
Updated: 2018-08-18
Packaged: 2019-06-29 01:06:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 66
Words: 123,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15718761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cutie1365/pseuds/cutie1365
Summary: From desk worker detective to Sergeant at Scotland Yard, Y/N L/N has come a long way from her days in Manhattan. When one consulting detective catches her eye, things get interesting. Can Sherlock Homes change his ways or will he allow her to be taken by another for hiding his feelings?





	1. Chapter 1

     Clicking and tapping was all you could hear. All day long, the clicking of keys on the computer and the taping of fingers and feet of the more impatient people standing nearby. You had only been working as a detective in New York City for a few months. Unbeknownst to you, it was a lot of sitting and filling out paperwork. I mean, you were a detective for Christ sake! You didn’t want to sit on your ass all day and punch info into a database. You wanted to be out in the field tracking down bad guys or something.

  
     “Hey Y/N ! Load these under cold cases will ya?” Your boss said, dropping a huge stack of papers onto your already crowded desk.

  
     “I’ll get right on that.” You said, annoyed. You were just waiting for your big break. For the day when you would finally be doing something important with your life.

  
     You started reading through the cold cases when four of them stuck out to you. All murders, no obvious motive, all wake up, leave for work, never show, and are never heard from again. Until their body shows up of course. You knew these sounded familiar, but you couldn’t pinpoint from where. You began digging through your pile of new cases you were loading into the database when you found it. Murder, no motive, no show for work. This one had just happened two days ago. You checked the timeline and each murder had taken place two months apart.

  
     You grabbed the five folders and marched into the head detective’s office in your precinct.

     "Y/N hey, can I help you?” Mac Taylor asked you.

  
     “Ya, I was loading these and noticed something weird.” you said. Detective Taylor looked interested, so you continued.

  
     “So this is the body you found two days ago right?” you asked, laying the file on his desk. He nodded. You laid down the remaining files.  
“These were in cold cases I was loading. Each exactly two months apart. All murders, with no clear motive. Just regular people who leave for work and never show up. All the bodies are found dumped with no severe bloody injuries.” you said confidently.

  
     “So what are you saying?” Taylor asked.

  
     “I’m saying I think you have a serial killer on your hands.” you state. Taylor reviews all his files and nods his head.

  
     “Well Y/N I think you’re right, good catch. How did we miss this?” He asked.

  
     “Well there’s no visible connection between the vics. Different genders, races, jobs, just all different walks of life. The only thing we know is something happened between when they leave their house and when they are supposed to arrive at work. Considering they all live in the city we have to think of transportation: taxi? subway?” you start spilling out ideas.

  
     “Perfect, I’ll get in touch with families or spouses. See if maybe we’ve got a connection there. But, like you said, big city, lots of people take taxis and the subway.” Taylor said.

  
     “I know but…” you stopped and looked through the files again.

  
     “Holy shit.” you mumbled, re-checking the files.

  
     “What?” Taylor asked.

       
     “They all live on the same freakin street.” you said, almost annoyed that you noticed this and you’ve been sitting behind a computer for the last few months while these idiots have been out in the field.

  
     “Dammit.” Taylor said placing his hand on his temple.

  
     A few weeks later Taylor and your boss had solved YOUR case and you were still cooped up behind a computer. You were furious. The next day your boss approached your desk. You knew you’d finally gotten your big break.

  
     “ Y/N , you have a minute?” He asked.

  
     “Of course.” you replied, optimistically.

  
     “Mac told me it was you who figured out this whole case. Good catch. For the past few months I’ve been looking for a new job opportunity in a… different precinct. After I found out you solved us this case, I recommended you for the job. I just heard back this morning and they’d love to have you. If you’ll accept.” He said.

  
     “Where?” You asked.

  
     “Scotland Yard, London.” He said casually.

  
     “London? London, England?” You asked confused.

  
     “Yes, you’ll be working with DI Greg Lestrade.” He explained.

  
     “As long as you can guarantee that I won’t be loving in cases in a computer all day. I’ll be out in the field actually being a detective.” You said, insensitively.

  
     “He assures you that there is never a dull moment at Scotland Yard.” He said.

  
     “I guess I’m moving to London then.” You said with a smile.


	2. Chapter 2

Almost a month had passed before you were able to find a decent apartment or flat as they say here. It was in central London on Chippenham road. It was clean, quaint, cute, and most importantly: cheap. It was semi furnished when you got there, but you had already bought new furniture to fill it up. Not all of your boxes had arrived yet, but they should before the week is out.

After lifting boxes and furniture all day you were exhausted. You decided to get cleaned up and find somewhere to eat. Just around the corner from your flat you found a small sandwich bar and cafe: Speedy’s. You walked in and sat down at a small table. You scrolled through your phone and read emails until you noticed someone approach your table. You figured it was the waiter so you put your phone down.

“Is this seat taken?” He asked. He was tall, had brown curly hair, and a long dark coat.

“Uh, nope.” You said with a small smile.

“Sherlock Holmes,” he said, “I’m looking for a flatmate.”

“What makes you think I don’t already have a flat?” you asked, intrigued with how forward this man was.

“You’re not from around here, obviously. You’re from the states, a big city, Chicago, New York. No, it was New York. You obviously know no one here because if you did you would know that Speedy’s isn’t the best choice in dining. You moved here for your job. Something sedentary, from the looks of your hands it involved doing a lot of writing and typing. So I’d say some kind of receptionist or personal assistant. But why would a receptionist be relocated to another country? Because you aren’t a receptionist. You’re a doctor or detective who finally got their big break and earned a promotion.” He said calmly, almost trying to impress you.

“How’d I do?” He asked, wanting to know that he got everything right about you.

“Well. Very well Mr. Holmes. I mean, you managed  to miss everything important but…” you said.

“How do you mean?” He asked, intrigued by you. He knew you were right. He had trouble reading you, he could only tell that stuff from your clothes and hands. There was something about you that made you so interesting to him, and he couldn’t take his eyes off you.

“You’re looking for a flatmate. If you were really as good as you think you are you would already know that I’ve ben lifting boxes all morning because I already have a flat.” You said matter-of-factly.

“Of course.” He said squinting with his hands together, resting on his lips. He sat there for a minute, deep in thought.

“Y/N. By the way.” You said breaking the silence.

“What?” He asked, snapping out of it.

“My name. It’s Y/N Gregson if you were wondering.” You said awkwardly.

“Y/N,” he repeated, “Brilliant.”

Suddenly your phone rang and you read the caller ID: Greg Lestrade.

“Sorry, I’ve got to take this, work.” You explained. He nodded and went back to thinking.

“Hello, Y/N this is Greg Lestrade from Scotland Yarde. I was just calling to make sure you were coming in tomorrow.” Greg asked.

“Yes, I am.” You reassured him.

“We’re getting wind of a case so we can’t wait to see you.” He said. 

“Tell Lestrade he’s wrong.” Sherlock said.

“What?” You asked, covering your phone. You were confused as to how he knew Lestrade and how he could hear your conversation.

“Tell Lestrade he’s wrong about the case. They aren’t suicides.” He said again.

”Um, Sherlock says that you’re wrong. They aren’t suicides.” You said awkwardly into the phone.

“He’s made his opinion clear. Wait, how do you know Sherlock?” Greg asked confused, or maybe worried.

“Oh, we only just met. I’ll be in tomorrow.” You said.

“Ok, we have a press conference at 9 and I want you to be there. I’ll fill you in after.” Greg said once more.

“Ok, sounds great, I’ll be there.” You said, hanging up.

“How do you know Lestrade?” You asked Sherlock.

“You tell me.” He said, testing you. You bit your lip and started examining him.

“You work with him on occasion, but not in an office. You don’t play well with others. That could also be the reason you don’t have a flatmate. You’re a detective, but only work with the police when consulted. You work best alone. I can imagine a consulting detective with no source of income isn’t the best way to pay the bills. So your family has money. You live close to here, maybe next door. You don’t get out much, except when on a case. You don’t eat much, you see it as a distraction from what’s really important. You haven’t had a flatmate in a while, but I bet you’ll find one soon. You were on your way out to a hospital or lab when you noticed me coming in here so you decided to follow me, because I intrigue you. So I think theres someone expecting you at the morgue, and you might not want to skip it. You’re desperate for a case. I bet I’ll see you tomorrow anyway, you don’t look like  the man to miss a good murder.” You said. Sherlock’s eyes seemed to pop. He was completely mesmerized by you, but of course he’d never show it.

He stood to leave but turned around with a smile on his face. “It’s too bad you already have a flat. Baker Street could use another me. Catch you later.” He said, leaving.

“Wouldn’t miss it.” You said smiling and ordered your food.

 


	3. Chapter 3

After eating and paying, you decided to walk back home to your new flat and unpack some boxes. Once you got there you noticed your door was open slightly, but you clearly remember locking it. You walk in slowly, all your senses on high alert You walk into the living room slowly as two large men jump you from behind. You screamed and tried to fight them off, but they were too strong and you had no weapons. They tied your arms and legs tightly to a chair. You tried to wiggle out of them, but they were too tight. You would feel your wrists burning the more you moved.

Another man walked out from the shadows. He was tall, arrogant, and wearing a nice suit. Very expensive, probably a job in the government, high up too.

“Don’t bother screaming,” he spoke as if he was better than you, “I would make some sort of threat, but I’m sure your situation is quite clear to you.”

“Obviously.” You said.

“Ah, American, now I see my…” he stopped himself, “his interest in you.”

You understood the moment you saw him. The height, cheek bones, arrogance, suits. He was a Holmes. Obviously the older brother.

“I have a phone you know. You could have just called me, not gone through all this trouble.” You said referring to your… situation.

“When one is avoiding the attention of Sherlock Holmes one learns to be discreet, hence this.”

You laughed. “Yes, very… discreet.” You tried to free your hands again, but still no luck.

“You don’t seem very afraid.” He observed.

“You don’t see, very frightening.” You retorted.

He laughed, “Yes, the bravery of a detective. Bravery is by far the kindest word for stupidity, don’t you think?” You didn’t say anything.

“What is your connection to Sherlock Holmes?” He asked you.

“I don’t have one. I barely know him. I met him…” You began. All you really wanted to say was- What’s yours? “Today.” You continued.

“Hmm, and in one day he asks you to move in with him. And tomorrow you’ll be solving crimes with him. Might we expect a happy announcement by the end of the week?” He was an arrogant dick, but he was smart. Just like Sherlock.

“Who are you?” You asked, already knowing the answer.

“An interested party.” He said discreetly.

“Interested in Sherlock? Why?” You said, analyzing him. “I’m guessing you’re not friends.” Then again, what siblings are? You almost let slip.  
“You’ve met him, how many friends do you imagine he has?” He said.

“None, just family.” You said, looking up to him.

“I’m the closest thing to a friend Sherlock Holmes is capable of having.” He said, neither proving nor disproving his identity.

“And what’s that?” You asked curiously.

“An enemy.” He said calmly.

“An enemy?” You asked.

“In his mind, certainly. If you were to ask him, he’d probably say his arch enemy. He does love to be dramatic.” He explained.

“Well thank God you’re above all that.” You said sarcastically, still tied up. You heard your phone chime in your pocket. You sighed, knowing you couldn’t reach it. The man sighed and retrieved it for you, placing it onto your lap so you could read it.

Baker Street. Come at once if convenient.  
-SH

“I hope I’m not distracting you.” The man said. You were deep in thought of how Sherlock got your number and why he wanted you to come to his flat.

“Not distracting me at all.” You said, looking back up to the man.

“Do you plan to continue your association with Sherlock Holmes?” He asked, seriously.

“Well, I could be wrong, but I think that’s none of your business.” You retorted.

“It could be.” He said. You were curious now.

“If you do continue your association I’d be happy to pay you a meaningful sum of money on a regular basis to ease your way.” He said.

“I’m listening.” You said with a small smile. This man is Sherlock’s brother, he’s just trying to get inside his head. If you took the money you could split it with Sherlock. But his brother might not be too happy when he finds out.

“Information. Nothing discreet. Nothing you feel… uncomfortable with. Just tell me what he’s up to.” He explained.

“Why?” You asked.

“I worry about him,” he said. Aww, brotherly love. Who knew the Holmes boys were capable of it, “Constantly.”

“That’s nice of you.” You said.

“But I would prefer for various reasons that my concern go unmentioned. We have what you might call a difficult relationship.” He explained.

“Naturally.” You said. Your phone chimed again, you looked down to read it.

If inconvenient, come anyway.  
-SH

“Deal.” You said with a smile.

“I imagine people are going to tell you to stay away from him. But for our sake I hope you don’t listen. I’m prepared to offer you 500£ a week for information on Mr. Holmes.” He said.

“Double it and you’ve got yourself a deal. I’ll get close to Sherlock, feed you information via text as the info comes.” You explained, knowing the information was pointless anyway because he could just ask his brother and get it for free. This way you and Sherlock both make a profit.

“Deal.” He said, nodding to the two other men to leave. He left an envelope of money on your coffee table. “I trust you can get yourself out of this one, Y/N.” He said leaving you tied up as he exited your flat.

You knocked your phone to the floor and slipped off your heel. You hit Sherlock’s number with your toe, putting him on speaker phone.

“I was expecting you to come.” Sherlock said, disappointed.

“I’m a bit tied up at the moment.” You grunted, trying to break free.

“Are you alright?” He asked, genuinely concerned.

“I will be, can you just get over here please?” You asked, assuming he knew exactly where you lived. I mean, even his brother did, he better know too.

“I’ll be right there.” He said, hanging up.

Within a few minutes Sherlock walked through your door. His eyes opened wide as he aw you all tied up and ran to free you.

“Are you alright?” He asked again, helping you to your feet.

“Yeah, I am now. Thanks.” You said, rubbing your sore wrists.

“Oh, your half.” You said pointing to the envelope on the table. Sherlock raised his eyebrow at you.

“Your brother, well I assume your brother, offered me 1000£ a week to keep him updated on you. I figured I’d take it so we could split the money.” You explained.

“Brilliant,” He said, taking his half, “If only John had been as smart as you.”

“John?” You asked, confused.

“My new flatmate. Mycroft offered him money too but he didn’t take it.” Sherlock explained.

“Mycroft and Sherlock. Two Holmes in one day. Your parents were very… uh… imaginative with the names.” You said with a smile. Sherlock laughed a little and nodded.

After tea at Sherlock’s and meeting his new flatmate you decided to head back home. You needed to get some sleep before your first day of work.

As you laid in bed, falling asleep, you smiled slightly. Lestrade was right- Never a dull moment.


	4. Chapter 4

The next morning you woke up early and showered. You straightened your hair, applied a little bit of makeup, and got dressed. After slipping into your grey pencil skirt, a light blue blouse, and a nude jacket, you looked for shoes. After slipping on a little jewelry you found some great, plain, light blue, pointed heels, and were ready to go. You grabbed your purse, locked the door, and went to hail a cab.

          Once you arrived at Scotland Yarde you met Lestrade, who was ushering people into a conference room. He was middle aged, had greying hair, and was fairly tall. He told you to stand in the back of the conference room and in a few hours everything should make sense.

“After that if you still have any questions, feel free to ask.” He said with a smile.

  
          The first press conference was starting, and you were standing in the back, leaning against the wall. The woman speaking, Margaret Patterson, had just lost her husband. One of the murder/suicides. “My husband was a happy man, who lived life to the full. He loved his family and his work. And that he should have taken his own life like this was a mystery and a shock to all that knew him.” She read from a piece of paper. Very heartfelt, coming from a woman whose husband just died. She can’t even speak from her heart, cares too much about her image.

  
          Your eyes scanned the room, falling on a blonde woman leaning against the window on the side of the room. She was crying more than the wife: Affair. She must have been the secretary or PA.

  
          The next press conference was scheduled to start soon. Lestrade and another detective, Donovan, we’re going to be answering questions to reporters about these strings of suicides.

  
          “The body of Beth Davenport, Junior Minister for Transport, was found late last night on a building site in Greater London. Preliminary investigations suggest that this was suicide. We can confirm that this apparent suicide closely resembles those of Sir Jeffrey Patterson and James Phillimore. In the light of this, these incidents are now being treated as linked,” Donovan said. Linked? Suicides can’t be linked. Sherlock was right, they weren’t suicides, they had to be murders. Donovan continued, “The investigation is ongoing, but Detective Inspector Lestrade will take questions now.”

  
          Lestrade looked slightly upset, almost like he knew something was wrong here. “Detective Inspector, how can suicides be linked?” A reporter asked.

  
          “Well, they all took the same poison. Um, they were all found in places they had no reason to be. None of them had shown any prior intentions…” Lestrade was cut off by the reporter.

  
          “But you can’t have serial suicides.” He said, and he was right.

  
          “Well, apparently you can.” Lestrade said, annoyed.

  
          “These three people, there’s nothing that links them?” Another reporter asked.

  
          “There’s no link that we’ve found yet but… We’re looking for it, there has to be one.” Lestrade said.

  
           Suddenly everyone’s phones started beeping even yours. It was a mass text.

**Wrong!**

          “If you’ve all got texts, please ignore them.” Donovan said.

****  
“It just says ‘Wrong’.” The first reporter said.

  
          “Yeah, well, just ignore that. If there are no more questions for Detective Inspector Lestrade, I’m going to bring this session to an end.” Donovan said.

  
          “If they’re suicides, what are you investigating?” Another reporter asked.

  
          “As I say, these suicides are clearly linked. Um. It’s an unusual situation, we’ve got our best people investigating.” Lestrade said, sort of flustered. You could tell this case wasn’t putting him in a good mood. Everyone’s phones beep again.

**Wrong!**

          You cracked a smile. You knew exactly who was sending these texts. Sherlock.

 

          “Is there any chance that these are murders? And if they are, is this the work of a serial killer?” A female reporter asked.

  
          “I… I know you’d like writing about these, but these do appear to be suicides,” Lestrade said, “We know the difference. The poison was clearly self administered.”

  
         "Yes, but if they are murders, how do people keep themselves safe?“ She asked again.

  
          "Well, don’t commit suicide,” Lestrade said. Donovan whispered something to him and he continued speaking, “Obviously this is a frightening time for people, but all anyone has to do is exercise reasonable precautions. We are all as safe as we want to be.”

  
          Everyone’s phones buzzed again.

**Wrong!**

         You quickly send a text to Sherlock.

**You think you’re so clever don’t you?**

**\- Y/N**

          “Thank you.” Lestrade said, ending the session. Donovan followed him and the three of us got our coats to leave.

****  
“You’ve got to stop him doing that. He’s making us look like idiots.” Donovan whined. You guess she knew Sherlock too.

  
          “If you can tell me how he does it, I’ll stop him.” Lestrade said annoyed.

  
We had just got word that there had been another suicide/murder. Lestrade knew it was time to get Sherlock’s help, considering this one left a note. The two of us drove to Sherlock’s flat, leaving Donovan and Anderson at the crime scene.

  
          “Where?” Sherlock said the moment Greg and I walked in the room.

  
          “Brixton, Lauriston Gardens.” Lestrade said.

  
          “What’s new about this one? You wouldn’t have come to get me if it wasn’t something different.” Sherlock said, he was good.

  
          “This one left a note. Will you come?” You asked him.

  
          “Who’s on Forensics?” Sherlock asked.

  
          “It’s Anderson.” Lestrade said.

  
          “Anderson won’t work with me.” Sherlock whined.

  
          “Well, he won’t be your assistant.” Greg said.

  
          “I need an assistant.” Sherlock whined again.

  
          “John was an army doctor, he can be your assistant. Will you come?” You asked again.

  
          “How did you…? Did he tell you that?” John asked, confused.

  
          “What? No. Will you come Sherlock?” You asked again.

  
          “Not in a police car, I’ll be right behind.” Sherlock agreed. He walked closer to you and whispered in your ear. “And to answer your question: Yes, I do.” He said referring to your previous text. You laughed.

  
          “Thought so. Thank you.” You said, leaving with Lestrade.

  
          Sherlock literally jumped with joy. “Brilliant! Yes!” He yelled. “Ah! Four serial suicides, and now a note. Oh, it’s Christmas. Mrs. Hudson I’ll be late. Might need some food.”

  
          “I’m your landlady, dear, not your housekeeper.” The sweet old lady said.

  
           "Some thing cold will do. John, have a cup of tea, make yourself at home. Don’t wait up!“ He yelled opening the door.

  
           "Look at him, dashing about… My husband was just the same. But you’re more the sitting down type, I can tell. I’ll make you that cuppa, you rest your leg.” Mrs. Hudson said.

  
          “Damn my leg. Sorry. I’m so sorry. It’s just sometimes this bloody thing.” John said tapping his leg with his cane.

  
          “I understand dear, I’ve got a hip.” She said sweetly.

  
          “Cup of tea would be lovely. Thank you.” John said again.

  
          “Just this once, dear, I’m not your housekeeper.” She said.

  
         "And a couple of biscuits too, if you’ve got 'em.“

  
         "Not your housekeeper!” She yelled back.

  
         Sherlock came back. “She’s right. You’re a doctor. Any good?”

  
         "Very good.“ John said standing.

  
        "Seen a lot of injuries, then. Violent deaths.” Sherlock said.

  
        “Enough for a lifetime.” He replied.

  
        “Want to see some more?” Sherlock asked.

  
        “Oh, God, yes.” John said, following Sherlock down the stairs.

  
        “Sorry Mrs. Hudson, I’ll skip the tea. Off out.”

  
        “Both of you?” She asked.

  
        “Impossible suicides? Four of them? There’s no point sitting at home when there’s finally something fun going on!” Sherlock kissed Mrs. Hudson’s cheek.

  
        “Look at you, all happy. It’s not decent. This isn’t about that new American detective is it? She’s very pretty Sherlock.” Mrs. Hudson said.

  
        “Good bye Mrs. Hudson.” Sherlock said, ignoring her comment about you. “The game is on!”

  
        Sherlock and John got in a taxi to follow you to the crime scene. On the trip over, Sherlock proved how he knew so much about John and his brother.

 


	5. Chapter 5

You saw Sherlock and John approaching the crime scene when Donovan yelled at him.

  
“Hello freak!” She said rudely.

  
“I’m here to see Detective Inspector Lestrade.” Sherlock replied.

  
“Why?” Donovan asked.

  
“I was invited.” Sherlock explained.

  
“Why?” She asked again, more rudely.

  
“I think he wants me to take a look.” Sherlock retorted.

  
“Well you know what I think don’t you?” She said.

  
“Always, Sally.” Sherlock said, his face changed. You knew he was deducing Donovan and you could tell this wasn’t going to end well.

  
“I even know you didn’t make it home last night.” Sherlock said, John turned to follow Sherlock under the police tape but Donovan stopped him.

  
“Who’s this?” She asked, holding up her hand.

  
“Colleague of mine, Dr. Watson. Dr. Watson, Sergeant Sally Donovan. Old friend.” He said, introducing the two. Friend? Sherlock didn’t have friends, as Mycroft reminded you.

  
“A colleague? How do you get a colleague? Did he follow you home?” Donovan asked, unamused.

  
“Would it be better if i just waited…” John said, interrupted.

  
“John, Sherlock! Come on!” You waived them over. Donovan looked angrily at you, but you didn’t care. They followed you across the street and to the front of the house. Then Anderson walked out the door and you knew that would cause trouble with Sherlock.

  
“Ah, Anderson. Here we are again.” He said annoyed.

  
“It’s a crime scene. I don’t want it contaminated. Are we clear on that?” Anderson asked, rudely. The whole block could feel the tension between these two.

  
“Quite clear,” Sherlock said. You thought everything was going to be fine between the two, until Sherlock began speaking again, “And is your wife away for long?”

  
“Oh don’t pretend you worked that out. Somebody told you that.” Anderson argued.

  
“Your deodorant told me that.” Sherlock said, dismissively.

  
“My deodorant?” Anderson asked, unamused.

  
“It’s for men.” Sherlock stated. Oh God, here we go.

  
“Well of course it’s for men. I’m wearing it.” He argued.

  
“So is Sergeant Donovan.” Sherlock pointed out. Ooh, affair, fun.

  
“Come on, before you two make another crime scene before we even look at this one.” You said, dragging Sherlock past Anderson and into the door.

  
“You know your mouth is going to get you into trouble one day.” You scolded.

  
‘I don’t doubt it.” He agreed.

  
“You’ll need to wear one of these.” I said to John, handing him gloves and a paper suit. Sherlock looked around curiously. You knew what he was about to ask, so you saved him the trouble.

  
“Upstairs.” You said, he nodded.

“I can give you two minutes.” Lestrade said as we began up the winding stairs.

  
“May need longer.” Sherlock argued.

  
“Her name’s Jennifer Wilson according to her credit cards, we’re running them now for contact details. Hasn’t been here long. Some kids found her.” Lestrade said as he lead us up the stairs to the crime scene.

  
Sherlock stared at the body for a few moments before turning his head to Lestrade, “Shut up.”

  
“I didn’t say anything.” Lestrade said defensively.

  
“You were thinking. It’s annoying.” Sherlock said. Lestrade turned to you, his mouth slightly open in awe. You raised an eyebrow and turned your gaze back to Sherlock who was stepping closer to the body. The woman was lying face down and wearing a bright fuchsia rain coat.  
You, Lestrade, and John stood near the door as Sherlock examined the body. He dragged his gloved hand over her wet jacket, under her collar, and to her unopened umbrella.

  
“Got anything?” Lestrade asked after a minute.

  
“Not much.” Sherlock said, as Anderson came into the doorway and stood next to you.

  
“She’s German. Rache. It’s German for ‘Revenge’. She could be trying to tell us something…” Anderson said confidently.

  
Sherlock walked towards you and Anderson standing in the door frame. He placed his hand on your shoulder, pulling you into the room. Then he continued to slam the door in Anderson’s face.

  
“Yes, thank you for you’re input.” He said, annoyed.

  
“So she’s German?” Lestrade asked.

  
“Of course she’s not.” You replied as Sherlock took out his phone and began frantically searching for information.

  
“She’s from out of town though. Intended to stay in London for one night before returning home to Cardiff.” Sherlock explained.

  
“So far, so obvious.” He said again.

  
“Sorry, obvious?” John asked confused.

  
“What about the message though?” Lestrade asked too.

  
“Sergeant Gregson, what do you think?” Sherlock asked you, testing you.

  
“She was writing Rachel. I bet if you found her phone you could find out who she is.” You said, arms crossed.

  
“She was writing Rachel?” Lestrade asked in disbelief.

  
“No, she was leaving an angry note in German. Of course, it has to be Rachel. But… why would she wait until she was dying to write it?” You asked, Sherlock seemed to be thinking that too.

  
“So what else have you got?” Lestrade asked Sherlock.

  
“Asphyxiation. Choked on her own vomit. Victim is in her late 30s. Professional person, going by her clothes. I’m guessing something in the media, going by the frankly alarming shade of pink. Travelled from Cardiff today, intended to stay in London one night. It’s obvious from the size of her suitcase.” He said.

  
“Suitcase?” You asked.

  
“Suitcase, yes. She’s been married at least 10 years, but not happily. She’s had a string of lovers but none of them knew she was married.” He continued.

  
“Oh, for God’s sake, if you’re just making this up.” Lestrade said.

  
“Her wedding ring. Ten years old at least. The rest of her jewelry has been regularly cleaned, but not her wedding ring. State of her marriage right there. The inside of the ring is shinier than the outside. That means its regularly removed. The only polishing it gets is when she works it off her finger. It’s not for work, look at her nails. She doesn’t work with her hands, so what or rather who does she remove her rings for? Clearly not one lover, she’d never sustain the fiction of being single over that amount of time, so more likely a string of them. Simple.” He explained.

  
“That’s brilliant.” John said, and you agreed 100%. Sherlock was truly amazing.

  
“Cardiff?” Lestrade asked, still hung up on that bit.

  
“It’s obvious isn’t it?” Sherlock said, looking around the room at us.

  
“It’s not obvious to me.” John said, Sherlock panned his eyes over to you.

  
“Yeah… no I don’t follow.” You admitted.

  
“Dear God, you too? what is it like inside your funny little brains, it must be so boring. Her coat. It’s slightly damp. She’s been in heavy rain in the last few hours. No rain anywhere in London in that time. Under her coat collar is damp too.” Sherlock said. Suddenly everything became clear to you.

  
“Oh, she had it turned up against the wind. Now I get it,” you said, Sherlock nodded at you to continue. “She had an umbrella in her left hand pocket but it was dry and unused. So it was strong wind, too strong to use her umbrella.”

  
“We know from her suitcase that she was intending to stay overnight, so she must have come a decent distance, but she couldn’t have travelled more than to or three hours because her coat still hasn’t dried. So, where has there been heavy rain and strong wind within the radius of that travel time? Cardiff.” Sherlock said.

  
“That’s fantastic.” John said with a smile.

  
“You do know you do that out loud?” Sherlock asked.

  
“You lost me again.” You admitted.

  
“What? How?” Sherlock asked, appalled.

  
“You keep saying suitcase.” You pointed out.

  
“Yes, where is it?” He asked. “She must have a phone or organizer. Find out who Rachel is.”

  
“How do you know she had a suitcase?” Lestrade asked.

  
“Back of her right leg. Tiny splash marks on the right heel and calf not present on the left. She was dragging a wheeled suitcase behind her with her right hand. Don’t get that splash pattern any other way. Smallish case, going by the spread. Case that size, woman this clothes-conscious, could only be an overnight bag so we know she was staying one night. Where is it? What have you done with it?” Sherlock asked.

  
“Sherlock. There wasn’t a suitcase.” You said, he looked up, surprised.

  
“Say that again.” He said.

  
“There wasn’t a case. There was never any suitcase.”

  
“Suitcase! Did anyone find a suitcase?” Sherlock jumped up and yelled out the door. He ran down the stairs. “Was there a suitcase in this house?” He ran about frantically.

  
“Sherlock! There’s no case!” You called after him.

  
“But they took the poison themselves. There are clear signs, even you lot couldn’t miss them.” He ran back down the stairs.

  
Right, yeah, thanks. And?” Lestrade asked, arms over his chest.

  
“It’s murder, all of them. I don’t know how but they’re not suicides. They’re killings, serial killings. We’ve got ourselves a serial killer. I love those. There’s always something to look forward to.” He said.

  
“Why are you saying that?” Lestrade called down from the railing

.  
“Her case! Come on. Where is her case? Did and eat it? Someone else was here and they took her case.” He explained.

  
“What if she just left it in her cab?” You said she was traveling from Cardiff.” You offered.

  
“So the killer must have driven her here. Forgot the case was in the car. Serial killers, always hard. You have to wait for them to make a mistake.”

  
“Can’t we just wait?” Lestrade asked,

  
“No, we’re done waiting. Look at her, really look at her. Houston, we have a mistake. Get on to Cardiff.”

  
“Problem.” You corrected.

  
“What?” Sherlock asked.

  
“It’s Houston we have a… never mind.” You said, letting it go.

  
“Find out who Jennifer Wilson’s family and friends were. Find Rachel.” Sherlock yelled, nearly making it out the door.

  
“Of course, yeah, but what mistake?” Lestrade yelled.

  
“Pink!” Sherlock yelled back, leaving out the door. Anderson comes back to continue Forensic’s investigation Lestrade turns to follow him.

  
“Wait, Lestrade. I’ll go with Sherlock, see if he gets any leads and then report back to you.” You said.

  
“Yeah, ok. Whatever it takes to find this guy quicker.” He said. You ran down the stairs and out the door to find Sherlock.

  
“He’s gone.” Donovan said, noticing you looking around.

  
“Who, Sherlock?” You asked.

  
“Yeah, he just took off. He does that.” She explained.

  
“Right, right.” You said, forgetting who you were dealing with. You saw John walk out of the door, realizing Sherlock left him too.

  
“Do you know where we can get a cab?” You asked, pointing to John’s leg.

  
“Try the main road.” Sally said, lifting the police tape for us.

  
“But you aren’t his friends, he doesn’t have friends. So who are you?” She asked the two of you.

  
“I’m… I’m nobody. I just met him.” John stammered.

  
“Ok. A bit of advice for the both of you then. Stay away from that guy.” She said, looking down to the ground.

  
“Why?” You asked.

  
“You know why he’s here?” She asked. “He’s not paid or anything. He likes it. He gets off on it. The weirder the crime the more he gets off. And you know what? One day just showing up won’t be enough. One day we’ll be standing round a body and Sherlock Holmes will be the one that put it there.” She explained.

“Why would he do that?” You asked.

  
“Because he’s a psychopath. Psychopath’s get bored.” She said.

  
“Donovan!” Lestrade yelled. “Coming!” She replied.

  
“Gregson, go follow Sherlock.” Lestrade yelled to you. you nodded.

  
“Stay away from Sherlock Holmes.” Donovan called back to you before entering the house.

  
Your phone buzzed as you and John left to go out to the main hail a cab.

  
Update on Sherlock?  
-Mycroft

  
You sent back a quick reply.

  
String of suicides are murders, serial killer. Sherlock is helping up. He was a new flatmate, but you already know that.  
-Y/N

  
You and John made it to the main road where you were finally able to hail a cab.

  
“Where to?” The cabbie asked.

  
“You think he would go back to your flat?” You asked John.

  
“Maybe, it’s worth a shot.” John said.

  
“221B Baker Street.” You told the cabbie.


	6. Chapter 6

Finally your cab pulled up to John and Sherlock’s new flat. You paid the cabbie the small fare and stormed up the stairs to Sherlock. You were upset that he left you two at the crime scene without a single word. Neither you nor John had known your way around the city. You and Sherlock both knew you were going to have to work together on this case and he left anyway. He was going to have to change his ways of solidarity if this partnership was going to work.  
When you walked through the door you found Sherlock lying on the couch with nicotine patches all over his forearm.  
"Forget something?“ You asked, ushering John through the door. He didn’t look up to either of you.  
"What are you doing?” You asked strictly.  
"Nicotine patch. Helps me think.“ He said, his eyes still pointed towards the ceiling. “Impossible to sustain a smoking habit in London these days. Bad news for brain work.” He said.  
“Well it’s good news for breathing.” You said, still annoyed.  
“Ugh! Breathing! Breathing’s boring.” Sherlock groaned.  
“Is that three patches?” You asked, grabbing his arm.  
“It’s a three-patch problem.” He said, yanking it back.  
“Well, you asked me to come. I’m assuming it’s important.” John said.  
“Wait. He texted you and you didn’t tell me?” You said to John. Dear God, these guys will be the death of me. You thought.  
“Oh. Yeah, of course. Can I borrow your phone?” Sherlock asked John. He was still laying on the couch with his hands resting in prayer position beneath his chin.  
“My phone?” John asked confused.  
“Don’t wanna use mine,” Sherlock began to explain, “Always a chance the number will be recognized. It’s on the website.”  
“Mrs. Hudson’s got a phone.”  
“Yeah, she’s downstairs. I tried shouting but she didn’t hear.” Sherlock explained.  
“I was the other side of London. Because you left us there.” John said, defending himself.  
“There was no hurry.” Sherlock said, you groaned.  
“Can we get back to what’s actually important?” You asked, fed up with this banter.  
“Ah yes, her case. First big mistake. The murder took her case.”  
“So?” John asked.  
Sherlock mumbled to himself. Something about risking it. “On my desk there’s a number. I want you to send a text.” Sherlock said. You grabbed John’s phone out of his hand and walked over to his desk.  
"These words exactly,“ Sherlock dictated to you, "What happened at Lauriston Gardens? I must have blacked out. 22 Northumberland Street. Please come.” You typed exactly what he said.  
Sherlock walked over to the kitchen and picked up something and sat it down on a chair in front of you. After you sent the text you looked down to see a pink suitcase.  
"Oh my God. That’s it. Jennifer Wilson’s case.“ You said surprised.  
"Yes. Obviously.” Sherlock said. You stared at it for about a minute, eyes wide, not saying a word. Thoughts racing through your head.  
"Oh, perhaps I should mention, I didn’t kill her.“ Sherlock said, annoyed.  
"I never said you did.” You said, but the thought had crossed your mind after the doubt Donovan put in it.  
“Do people usually assume you’re the murderer?” You asked, eyebrow raised, a smirk on your face.  
“Now and then, yes.” He said, returning the smirk and hoping up on his chair. “I assume you realize how I found it?” Sherlock asked.  
“Yeah, I think I got that. Is there anything missing?” You asked.  
“Her phone.” He explained.  
“Oh, so that explains the text. The killer must have it. He’s probably going to freak out when he sees the text. You want him to show up so we can catch him.” You said, understanding.  
John’s phone suddenly rings. He didn’t answer as Sherlock explained everything to him.  
"Problem?“ Sherlock asked you as you were getting ready to leave.  
"Yeah, Donovan-” You began before Sherlock cut you off.  
"What about her?“ Sherlock asked.  
"She said… you get off on this. You enjoy it.” You said awkwardly.  
"And here you are,“ Sherlock said, "I can’t be the only one.”  
“Need I remind you, this is actually my job. I get paid to do this.” You said. Sherlock turned to walk out the door, you followed him.  
"I’ll just stay here then.“ John said, sitting down in front of the TV or telly as they say here.  
"We won’t be gone long. Sit tight.” You said. You and Sherlock began walking down to Northumberland Street.  
“You think he’s stupid enough to go there?” You asked Sherlock.  
“No, I think he’s brilliant enough. I love the brilliant ones. They’re all so desperate to get caught.” He said.  
"Appreciation.“ You said.  
"Exactly. Applause. At long last the spotlight. That’s the frailty of genius, Y/N, it needs an audience.”  
"I’ll keep that in mind.“ You said, off handedly.  
"This is his hunting ground. Right here in the heart of the city. Now that we know his victims were abducted, that changes everything.” Sherlock spoke.  
“All his victims disappeared from busy streets, crowded places, but nobody saw them go.” You followed along.  
"Think! Who do we trust, even though we don’t know them? Who passes unnoticed wherever they go? Who hunts in the middle of a crowd?“  
"I don’t know. Who?” You asked.  
"Haven’t the faintest. Hungry?“ Sherlock asked you. You followed Sherlock into a pub. The host pointed Sherlock towards towards a tale by the window.  
"Thank you, Billy.” He said, you two sat down.  
"22 Northumberland Street. Keep your eyes on it.“ Sherlock instructed you. You took off your coat. You were still wearing your blouse and pencil skirt from earlier and Sherlock was still in his suit.  
"He’s not just going to ring the door bell. He’d have to be crazy.” You said.  
“He has killed four people.” Sherlock said.  
“Yeah, I guess that’s considered crazy.” You agreed.  
“Sherlock!” The owner of the restaurant came up and shook his hand. “Anything on the menu, whatever you want, free. On the house, for you and your date.” He said, handing you a menu.  
“Oh, this isn’t… uh… that.” You stumbled over your words, blushing slightly.  
"Do you want to eat?“ Sherlock asked you.  
"This man got me off a murder charge.” The owner explained to you.  
"This is Angelo,“ Sherlock introduced the two of you. "Three years ago I proved to Lestrade at the time of a particularly vicious triple murder that Angelo was in a completely different part of town, house-breaking.” You shook his hand.  
“He cleared my name.” Angelo said.  
“I cleared it a bit. Anything happening opposite?” Sherlock asked him.  
“Nothing. But for this man, I’d have gone to prison.” Angelo explained.  
“You did go to prison.” Sherlock straightened out, keeping his eyes on Northumberland Street.  
“I’ll get a candle for the table. It’s more romantic.”  
“I’m not his date.” You called back, still annoyed at Sherlock for what had happened earlier.  
"You may as well eat. We might have a long wait.“ Sherlock said. You nodded and scanned the mend. Angelo soon brought back a candle and placed it in between you and Sherlock.  
"Thanks.” You said sarcastically. Sherlock was still looking out the window facing Northumberland Street.  
"People don’t have arch-enemies.“ You said, Sherlock snapped out of his trance and looked at you confused.  
"I’m sorry?” He asked.  
“In real life. Mycroft said he was your arch-enemy. There are no arch-enemies in real life, it just doesn’t happen.” You repeated.  
“Doesn’t it? Sounds a bit dull,” Sherlock said.  
“What do real people have, then, in their real lives?” Sherlock asked out, as if you were an expert on real life.  
“Um, friends. You know, people they know. People they like, people they don’t like. Girlfriends, boyfriends.” You said awkwardly.  
“Yes, well, as I was saying… dull.” Sherlock said, not really paying attention.  
“You don’t have a girlfriend, then?” You asked, not really implying anything, merely just curious.  
“Girlfriend? No… not really my area.” He said, still looking out the window. As he spoke the door chimed and a well dresses, handsome, man walked through the door. He saw you look at him and he winked at you. You smiled back and then looked back to Sherlock, well, at least someone was paying attention to you tonight. You didn’t mind male attention, you were used to it. You kind of thought it was flattering too. You pulled your attention back on Sherlock, who had noticed the man walk in and flirt with you.  
“Do you have a boyfriend? Which is fine, by the way.” You said, trying to think about anything other than the man who kept staring and you from the back of the room.  
"I know its fine.“ He replied.  
"So you’ve got a boyfriend then…” You stated.  
"No.“ Replied quickly. You were almost relieved. Honestly, you thought Sherlock was attractive, but you knew he wasn’t the type to have that sort of relationship.  
"Okay, right. That’s fine, you’re unattached. Just like me…” You trailed off, focusing back to the man who hadn’t taken his eyes off you, even as he spoke on the phone. You tried to read him, but he was too far away. He wore a grey suit, had short dark hair, and brown eyes. You didn’t know to be flattered or frightened by the attention you were getting from this man. He looked powerful, maybe he worked in the government, but you could tell he was smart. In some ways he reminded you of Sherlock.  
"Y/N um…“ Sherlock began, but you had barely heard him. You were still focused on the man in the back of the room. "I think you should know that I consider myself married to my work, and while I’m flattered, I’m really not looking for any…” You finally turned your attention back to him.  
"What?“ You asked, not really paying attention.  
"What in God’s name is so important that you keep looking at?” Sherlock asked, turning around to see the man who was staring at you.  
"Of course, figures.“ Sherlock said.  
"No… I… Sherlock. Whatever you’re insinuating it’s not… Does he look familiar to you?” You stumbled over your words.  
“No, he doesn’t.” Sherlock replied.  
“I swear I’ve seen him before.” You stated.  
"Look across the street. Taxi. It’s stopped,“ Sherlock said, you were glad to be off that topic. "Nobody getting in, nobody getting out. Why a taxi?” You looked across he street too.  
"Oh that’s clever. Is it clever? Why is it clever?“ Sherlock talked to himself.  
"You wanted someone who hides in plain sight. Stopping in a cab would be better than a private car.” You said.  
"Don’t stare.“ Sherlock instructed you.  
"You’re staring.” You retorted.  
"We can’t both stare.“ Sherlock hoped out of his seat and out the door. You followed him. We got our coats on as we waited for the taxi to move. It pulled away and Sherlock began to run, not noticing that there was a car about to hit him.  
"Sherlock!” You yelled as he slid across the hood of the car and continued running. You followed him.  
"Sherlock stopped as the cab turned a corner and entered his mind palace. He was looking for an alternate route where we could catch the taxi on foot. He stopped mumbling and took off, you followed, close behind. You wished you had worn other shoes. Your feet were going to die from running in these heels. You followed Sherlock up the stairs of some building and onto the roof.  
“Come on, Y/N.” Sherlock called.  
“You try doing this in heels.” You huffed, a few feet behind him. Sherlock lept over the stair rail. You jumped after him, not sure how your shoes survived the sudden impact. Sherlock jumped from the building you were on onto the one next to it. You stopped and looked down, being afraid of heights, you kind of freaked out.  
“Come on Y/N. We’re losing him!” Sherlock yelled, hearing his voice filled you with a little false courage and you took the leap. Now you were right behind him and running down stairs back onto the ground. You saw the cab pass you as you were running behind Sherlock, your lungs were on fire and your adrenaline was pumping faster than it ever was.  
"Oh! This way!“ Sherlock said, turning a corner. Sherlock’s pace quickened and you saw him jump in front of a cab. THE cab. the driver slammed on its brakes and Sherlock opened the back door.  
"Police! Open her up!” He yelled, panting. He got one look at the guy and started shaking his head. “No… Teeth, tan. What, Californian?” He said. He checked his luggage tag on the suitcase in front of him. “LA, Santa Monica. Just arrived.”  
“Not our guy.” You panted.  
“Probably your first trip to London, right?” Sherlock said, still slightly out of breath. “Going by your final destination and the route the cabbie was taking you.”  
“Sorry, are you guys the police?” The guy asked, you smiled. It was nice to hear an American accent again.  
"Yeah. Everything all right?“ Sherlock asked, pulling out a badge.  
"Yeah.” The guy replied was a smile.  
"Welcome to London.“ Sherlock smiled and slammed the door shut, and walked off. You followed him.  
"Basically just a cab that happened to slow down.” You said disappointed.  
“Basically.” Sherlock agreed.  
"Wrong country, good alibi.“ You said.  
"As they go.” Sherlock said.  
"Hey, where did you get this?“ You said ripping the badge out of Sherlock’s hand. "Detective Inspector Lestrade?” You read.  
"Yeah, I pickpocket him when he’s annoying. You can keep that one, I’ve got plenty back at the flat.“ Sherlock said.  
"You seem to keep forgetting that I have my own.” You said, pulling your badge out of your pocket. You put it back and started to laugh.  
"What?“ Sherlock asked, confused.  
"Nothing… just ‘Welcome to London’.” Sherlock laughed too.  
"Got your breath back?“ Sherlock asked.  
"Ready when you are.” You said, taking off down the road beside Sherlock and following him all the way back to Baker Street.


	7. Chapter 7

When you finally made it back to Baker Street you were still panting and filled with adrenaline. You smiled at Sherlock as you caught your breath. You two hung up your coats.  
“That was ridiculous. That was the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever done.” You panted as you leaned against the wall next to Sherlock.  
“And you broke into Disney World.” Sherlock said, remembering you had told him that the night before. You both laughed.  
“That wasn’t just me. And we spend the night on Tom Sawyer Island, I think ‘broke into’ is a little strong.” You laughed.  
"Why aren’t we back at the restaurant then?“ You asked, returning your attention back to the case.  
"They can keep an eye out. It was a long shot anyway.” Sherlock said.  
"Sherlock, what have you done?“ Mrs.Hudson came running out from her flat at the sound of your voices.  
"Mrs.Hudson?” Sherlock asked confused.  
“Upstairs.” She said. Sherlock turned to you to see if you knew what she was talking about. You shook your head and he turned and ran up the stairs, you close in toe. Sherlock threw open the door and you saw Lestrade sitting in Sherlock’s chair.  
“What are you doing?” Sherlock asked immediately.  
“Well, I knew you’d find the case, I’m not stupid.” Lestrade said.  
“You can’t just break into my flat.” Sherlock argued.  
“And you can’t withhold evidence and distract my new detective from doing her job. And I didn’t break into your flat.” Lestrade said, still lounging in Sherlock’s chair.  
“Well, what do you call this then?” Sherlock yelled.  
“It’s a drugs bust.” Lestrade smiled.  
“Seriously? This guy, a junkie?” You laughed. “Have you met him?”  
"Y/N.“ Sherlock turned to you.  
"I’m pretty sure you could search this flat all day, you wouldn’t find anything you could call recreational.” You argued, Lestrade still had a smile on his face.  
"Y/N, you probably want to shut up now.“ Sherlock whispered to you.  
"But come on.” You said, looking up into his blue eyes. He didn’t say a word and kept his face completely serious.  
"No.“ You said, shocked.  
"What?” Sherlock asked, his face remaining the same.  
“You?” You asked, surprised that Sherlock was more of a Bad Boy than you had thought.  
“Shut up!” He said to your laughter, and turned to Lestrade. “I’m not your sniffer dog!” He yelled.  
"No, Anderson’s my sniffer dog.“ Lestrade retorted and looked into the kitchen where Anderson was standing.  
"What, I… Anderson, what are you oing here on a drugs bust?” Sherlock asked, his voice filled with disgust.  
“Oh, I volunteered.” Anderson replied.  
“They all did. Theyr’re not strictly speaking on the drug squad, but they’re very keen.” Lestrade said as another voice came from the kitchen.  
“Are these human eyes?” Donovan asked.  
"Put those back!“ Sherlock motioned with his finger.  
"They were in the microwave.” Sher argued.  
"It’s an experiment.“ He whined.  
"Keep looking, guys.” Lestrade instructed. “Or you could help us properly and I’ll stand down.”  
“This is childish.” Sherlock whined.  
“Well, I’m dealing with a child. Sherlock, this is our case. I’m letting you in, but you do not go off on your own.” Lestrade said, and turned to you. “And you, you were supposed to keep me updated if you found anything.”  
“I’m sorry, we were following a lead.” You said.  
“What, so you set up a pretend drugs bust to bully me?” Sherlock said, not paying attention to the conversation between you and Lestrade.  
“It stops being pretend if they find anything.” Lestrade pushed.  
“I am clean!” Sherlock announced.  
“Is your flat?” Anderson nagged.  
“All of it?” Lestrade asked.  
“I don’t even smoke.” Sherlock said, revealing his nicotine patch.  
“Neither do I, so lets work together.” Lestrade said. Sherlock rolled back up his sleeve.  
“We found Rachel.” Lestrade announced.  
“Who is she?” You asked.  
“Jennifer Wilson’s only daughter.” Lestrade answered.  
“Daughter? Why would she write her daughter’s name? Why?” Sherlock talked to himself.  
“Never mind that, we found the case. According to someone the murderer has the case, and we found it in the hands of our favorite psychopath.” Anderson said, pointing a gloved hand to the pink case sitting near Lestrade.  
“I’m not a psychopath, Anderson. I am a high-functioning sociopath. Do your research.” Sherlock retorted. He turned back to Lestrade and continued about the case. “You need to bring Rachel in, you need to question her. I need to question her.”  
“She’s dead.” Lestrade said.  
“Excellent. How and when, why?” Sherlock asked. “Is there a connection? There has to be.”  
“Well, I doubt it, since she’s been dead for 14 years. Technically she was never alive. Rachel was Jennifer Wilson’s stillborn daughter, 14 years ago.” Lestrade explained.   
“No… that’s… That’s not right. How? Why would she do that? Why?” Sherlock asked confused.  
“Why would she think of her daughter in her last moments? Yup, sociopath, I’m seeing it now.” Anderson answered rudely.  
“She didn’t think about her daughter, she scratched her name on the floor with her fingernails. She was dying. It took effort, it would have hurt.” Sherlock retorted.  
“The victims all took the poison themselves, he makes them take it. Maybe… I don’t know, he talks to them. Maybe he used the death of her daughter somehow.” You offered. Lestrade nodded his head.  
“Yeah, but that was ages ago. Why would she still be upset?” Sherlock shouted, frustrated. You looked up at him, surprised and almost saddened by his lack of sensitivity. You looked down and pinched the bridge of your nose.  
“Not good?” Sherlock asked, knowing he doesn’t fully understand human feelings like love and loss.  
“No, Sherlock. Not good.” You answered. He stepped closer to you until you were only inches apart and lowered his voice.  
“If you were dying… If you’d been murdered in your very last seconds, what would you say?” Sherlock asked.  
“Please, God, let me live.” You scoffed.  
“No, if you were clever. Really clever. Jennifer Wilson running all those lovers, she was clever. She’s trying to tell us something.” Sherlock said, unamused with your response. You were about to speak again when Mrs. Hudson appeared in the doorway.  
“Isn’t the doorbell working? Your taxi’s here Sherlock.” She said. She really was the sweetest old woman you had ever met.  
“I didn’t order a taxi. Go away.” He replied rudely.  
“Oh dear. They’re making such a mess. What are they looking for?” She asked.  
“It’s a drugs bust, Mrs. Hudson.” You answered.  
“But they’re just for my hip. They’re herbal soothers.” She explained, you nodded with a smile. You looked over to Sherlock who was pacing with his hands on his temples.  
“Shut up, everybody! Shut up! Don’t move, don’t speak, don’t breathe. I’m tryin to think. Anderson, face the other way. You’re putting me off.” Sherlock shouted. Anderson argued but Lestrade put him down.  
“Come on, think. Quick!” Sherlock mumbled to himself.  
“What about your taxi?” Mrs.Hudson asked.  
“Mrs. Hudson!” Sherlock yelled, she raised her hands in defeat and went back down the stairs.  
“Oh! Ah! She was clever. Clever, yes!” Sherlock said, you knew he’d gotten it. “She’s cleverer than you lot and she’s dead. Do you see, do you get it?” That last part was directed at you. You mouth made an O shape and your eyes opened wide with understanding.  
“She didn’t lose her phone. She planted it on him. When she got out of the car she knew she was gonna die. She left her phone to lead us to her killer.” You explained.  
“Exactly!” Sherlock announced, proudly.  
“But how?” Lestrade asked.  
“What do you mean, how?” You asked.  
“Rachel!” Sherlock said, no one else but you understood. “Don’t you see, Rachel!” He tried again, but still no one got it.  
“Oh… Look at you lot. You’re all so vacant. Is it nice not being me? It must be so relaxing.” He nearly laughed. You smiled.   
“Rachel isn’t a name.” You clarified.  
“Then what is it then?” Lestrade asked.  
“On the luggage, there’s a label. E-mail address.” Sherlock said. Lestrade read it out to us.  
“Jennie.pink@mephone.org.uk” He announced. You stood over Sherlock and he sat behind his laptop and onto the website to activate the tracker on her phone.  
“She didn’t have a laptop, so she worked from her phone. Smartphone, email enabled. So there was a website for her account.” You announced to a confused Lestrade.  
“The username is her email address, and all together now, the password is…” Sherlock began. You finished his sentence for him rather matero factly, “Rachel!”  
“So we can read her emails, so what.” Anderson said.  
“Anderson, don’t talk out loud. You lower the IQ of the whole street. We can do much more than just read her emails.” He said, you chuckled.  
“It’s a smartphone, it’s got a GPS. So if you lose it, you can find it online. She’s leading us directly to her killer.” You said.  
“Unless he got rid of it.” Lestrade offered.  
“We know he didn’t.” You told Lestrade.  
“Come on, come on. Quickly!” Sherlock yelled at the computer, which was still loading.  
“Sherlock, dear. This taxi driver…” Mrs. Hudson said, coming back up the stairs.  
“Mrs. Hudson, isn’t it time for your evening soother?” Sherlock asked, getting up. He was instructing Lestrade that the battery wouldn’t last forever, so when they found its location they’d have to act fast.  
“Sherlock…” You said.  
“What is it?Quickly, where?” He asked, running over to you.  
“It’s here. It’s in 221 Baker Street.” You announced.  
“How can it be here? How?” He asked.  
“Maybe it fell out of the case when you brought it here.” Lestrade suggested.  
“Sherlock.” You said, trying to get his attention.  
“What, and I didn’t notice it? Me? I didn’t notice it.”  
“Sherlock!” You yelled again and he finally turned to you.  
“We were wrong.” You said.  
“What?” He said, confused.  
“We were wrong. When we stopped that cab. I wasn’t the passenger, it was the driver. Who hunts in a crowd? Who do we trust when we don’t even know them?” You repeated his words from earlier that night. Mrs. Hudson was now back at the door with someone else: the cabbie. Sherlock was silent for a few moments as he thought. Suddenly Sherlock’s phone buzzed and he was snapped from his thoughts.  
He slowly started walking towards the door. “Sherlock,” You grabbed his arm and brought him closer to you. You dropped your voice to a whisper. “You can’t go with him. You can’t do this. You know what happened to the last four.”  
“I know, but I need to.” He whispered back.  
“I better not be working your case tomorrow.” You said.  
“I promise, you won’t be.” He replied, and walked out the door. You went back to the computer and continued tracking the phone. You weren’t gonna let Sherlock die tonight. You sat down and pulled out your phone.  
Come to Baker St. Now! Sherlock’s in trouble.  
-Y/N  
You set the text to John and waited for him to arrive. You kept Lestrade occupied so that you could go after Sherlock when John got here. And now you waited for the tracker to load again, and prayed.


	8. Chapter 8

John finally walked through the door of 221B as you were explaining everything to Lestrade.  
"We’ve got our guy! If we can follow him you can catch yourself a serial killer.“ You turned to see John.  
"John! Finally! Where have you been?” You yelled, running over to him.  
"I was at my flat, packing… I’m gonna move in here.“ He explained. "What’s going on?”  
"It’s Sherlock. He just with the murderer, but he still has the phone so we can still track it. But the damn thing won’t load while it keeps moving, we’ll have to wait until they get where they’re going.“  
"How exactly are we going to do that? What evidence do we have?” Lestrade asked.  
"He has her phone. She planted it on her killer and that man has it.“ You shouted.  
"There’s nothing we can do legally without a court ordered warrant. And no judge in their right mind would do that with the lack of evidence we have.” Lestrade explained.  
"So what? We sit on our ass until we find Sherlock’s dead body?“ You groaned.  
"Who says that wouldn’t be a good thing?” Anderson said. You scowled at him.  
"We go back to Scotland Yard, we wait. That’s all we can do.“ Lestrade said, getting up and walking through the door. The makeshift ‘drugs squad’ followed behind him.  
You turned to John before following everyone out the door. "Follow the tracker when it’s loaded. Find Sherlock, before it’s too late.”  
You sat around Scotland Yard, twirling your thumbs and worrying. Nearly an hour had passed and you hadn’t heard from John or Sherlock. You had gone over all the files on the past four murders and English laws on warrants or anything that could help. Just one loophole was all you needed.  
And you had found nothing.  
You went back to your desk and flipped through your phone. You saw that you had a text from John… but it had been sent 25 minutes ago. How come you hadn’t seen it 25 minutes ago?  
Roland-Kerr Further Education College.  
-John  
You scoffed. Just because you had an address didn’t mean anything. You still couldn’t do anything. English legal process: great. You couldn’t just up and leave, it was your first day! You didn’t want to be fired for some man you just met. Even though he’s the smartest man you’ve ever met. And easy on the eyes… You shook your head. Sherlock wasn’t capable of feelings like that, and you knew it.  
Lestrade’s voice pulled you from your thoughts. “Guys! We’ve got a one eighty-seven up at Roland-Kerr Further Education College. Let’s head out people!”  
187? Dead body, homicide. At the exact same place Sherlock was with a serial killer. Your heart dropped. He was dead, and there was nothing you did to stop it. The man with the greatest mind you’ve ever met was dead, just because you didn’t want to lose your job.  
You felt a tear run down your face and you quickly whipped it away. You followed Lestrade out to the parking lot and hopped in the passenger seat of his squad car. You drove in silence as you kept a brave face.  
"Do you think it’s him?“ You asked Lestrade quietly, he sighed.  
"I sure hope not, but yeah. I think it’s Sherlock. I’m sorry.” He said. You turned your head and looked out the window as another silent tear slipped from your face.  
You pulled up to the crime scene with lights flashing. You saw a gurney covered in a long white sheet being rolled out of the building. You slapped your hand over your mouth in shock. Everything was becoming so real, the world was spinning. Everything was happening in slow lotion. Lestrade looked apathetically at you.  
Your eyes scanned the scene looking for John. The flashing Ambulance lights drew your attention. Your eyes opened wide as you saw him.  
"Sherlock!“ You screamed, your body taking over. You felt your legs running at him as fast as possible. He looked up to you with a smile. You wrapped your arms around him and squeezed tight, making sure he was real. Surprisingly he squeezed back.  
"I thought you were dead.” You pulled back, standing in front of him. He had an orange shock blanket wrapped around him. “All we knew was a 187 happened right where I knew you were.”  
"I promised you I’d be okay.“ He said, smiling.  
Anderson turned around towards you two with Donovan by his side. "Should we expect a happy announcement by the end of the week?” Anderson asked.  
Sherlock looked down into your eyes as you let out a light chuckle.  
"What?“ He asked.  
"Your brother said the same thing.” You explained. Sherlock laughed.  
"Anyway, what happened? Tell me everything.“ You asked, eyes wide with curiosity. Thankful Sherlock was alive.  
"Well, when I followed him outside he said I could call the cops, but if I did he’d never tell me how it was done. I had to know, I had to understand. Once I was in the car he said he was warned about me, apparently I have a fan.” He said.  
"What about the suicides? How’d he manage that?“ You asked.  
"Two identical pills. You take one, he takes the other. A complete game of chance.” He explained.  
"No one’s that lucky. How did they pick the bad pill four times?“ You asked in awe. Sherlock nodded in agreement, he wasn’t 100% sure either.  
"But what’s the point? Why kill four people? For the fun of it?” You asked.  
"He had an aneurism. He was a dead man walking. Every life he took money would go to his kids. He had a sponsor.“ Sherlock said.  
"And I thought I’d heard it all.” You laughed. “Who was his sponsor? You get a name?” You asked again.  
"Moriarty.“ Sherlock said.  
Lestrade walked up to the two of you.   
"Why have I got this blanket? They keep putting this blanket on me.” Sherlock told him.  
"Yeah, it’s for shock.“ Lestrade explained.  
"I’m not in shock.” Sherlock whined.  
"Yeah, but some of the guys wanted to take photographs.“ Sherlock rolled his eyes as you laughed.  
"So, the shooter. No sign?” Sherlock asked. You were confused for a moment, before piecing it together. If Sherlock was still alive then the cabbie had to have been the 187, and someone had to have shot him.  
"Cleared off before we got here. But a guy like that would have had enemies, I suppose. One of them could have been following him, but… we’ve got nothing to go on.“ Lestrade said.  
"Oh, I wouldn’t say that.” Sherlock said with a smirk.  
"The bullet they just dug out of the wall’s from a handgun. A kill shot over that distance, that kind of weapon. That’s a crack shot we’re looking for. But not just a marksman, a fighter. His hands couldn’t have shaken at all, so clearly he’s acclimatised to violence. He didn’t fire until I was in immediate danger, though, so strong moral principle. You’re looking for a man probably with a history of military service, and nerves of steel…“ Sherlock trailed off as his eyes landed on something behind you.  
You turned around to see John standing there, waiting patiently behind the police tape. Your eyes opened wide in realization. John did exactly what you told him, save Sherlock.  
"Actually, do you know what? Ignore me.” Sherlock covered.  
"Sorry?“ Lestrade asked confused.  
"Ignore all of that. It’s just the, er, shock talking.” Sherlock said, turning and walking off.  
"Where are you going?“ Lestrade asked.  
"I just need to talk about the rent.” Sherlock stumbled.  
"I’ve still got questions.“ Lestrade whined.  
"What now? I’m in shock, look. I’ve got a blanket.” Sherlock whined back.  
"Sherlock!“ Lestrade yelled, crossing his arms.  
"And, I just caught you a serial killer. More or less.” He said.  
"Okay. We’ll pull you in tomorrow, off you go.“ Sherlock walked off to John and threw his blanket through he window of a squad car.  
"Why can’t he just cooperate for once?” Lestrade asked you.  
"You know him better than I do.“ You said, shaking your head.  
"I’ve known him for five years, and no, I don’t.” He answered.  
"Then why do you put up with him?“ You asked honestly.  
"Because I’m desperate, that’s why. And because Sherlock Holmes is a great man, and I think one day, if we’re very, very lucky, he might even be a good one. I’ve seen the way he looks at you Y/N.” Lestrade said. You saw his eyes trail off to something beside the two of you. A car pulled up to the crime scene, a nice car.  
"Oh God, not now.“ Lestrade said annoyed.  
"Mycroft?” You asked.  
"You know him?“ Lestrade asked.  
"Uh, yeah. Excuse me.” You said walking towards him.  
"So, another case cracked. Heard you solves this one before Sherlock. I’m going to assume he didn’t like that.“ Mycroft said. You cracked a smile. You heard two sets of footsteps behind you, must have been John and Sherlock.  
"What are you doing here?” Sherlock asked, now standing beside you.  
"As ever, I’m concerned about you.“ Mycroft answered.  
"Yes, I’ve been hearing about your 'concern’.” Sherlock said rudely, slipping a hand onto the small of your back, his actions shocking you.  
"Always so aggressive. Did it never occur to you that you and I belong on the same side?“ Mycroft said, raising an eyebrow at Sherlock’s sudden contact with you.  
"Oddly enough, no.” Sherlock answered.  
"We have more in common than you’d like to believe. This petty feud between us is simply childish.“ Mycroft states. "People will suffer. And you know how it always upset Mummy.”  
"Now, now boys. Play nice.“ You said, ready to step in between them.  
"I upset her? Me? It wasn’t me that upset her Mycroft.” Sherlock argued.  
"No. No, wait. Mummy? Who’s Mummy?“ John asked confused.  
"Their mother John, come on. This is Sherlock’s brother, Mycroft.” You answered. Mycroft looked at you, impressed.  
"Your brother?“ John asked Sherlock.  
"Of course he’s my brother.” Sherlock answered.  
"So he’s not… “ John asked.  
"Not what?” Sherlock asked confused.  
"I don’t know. Criminal mastermind?“ John said.  
"Close enough.” Sherlock said.  
"For goodness’ sake. I occupy a minor position in the British government.“ Mycroft stated.  
"He is the British government.” Sherlock corrected. “When he’s not too busy being the British secret service or the CIA on a freelance basis. Good evening Mycroft. Try not to start a war before I get home, you know what it does for the traffic.” Sherlock said, walking away.  
"One more question,“ Mycroft said. Sherlock turned back around. "Y/N, how long have you known?” He asked.  
"That you’re brothers? From the moment I saw you.“ You said, and it was the truth. He smiled.  
"Interesting, that American woman. She could be the making of my brother, or make him worse than ever. People do crazy things when they’re in love. It’s only a matter of time.” Mycroft told his assistant.  
"Either way, we’d better upgrade their surveillance status. Grade three active.“  
"Sorry, sir, whose status?” She asked, finally looking up from her Blackberry.  
"Sherlock Holmes and Sergeant Y/N.“


	9. Chapter 9

A few months had passed since your last big case. Nothing out of the ordinary had happened. Basic cases: robberies, break ins, but nothing exciting. You had rarely seen Sherlock, he was busy doing whatever he does, and you were busy working. You were a bit disappointed. After your last big case you thought things were taking a step in the right direction with Sherlock, but you must have been wrong. He was never going to change his ways of solidarity, and you knew it. You really wanted things to work out with Sherlock, he completely took your breath away.  
The holidays were coming up and you were lucky enough to have been working hard enough to earn a few days of vacation. It was only three days and a weekend, but a vacation none the less. You could finally take a break, get some sleep, do some shopping, and just roam the city.  
Since you’ve moved to London you really haven’t had time to get settled in. You had a few things to check off your list, and first was going to the bank. You had to open up an account so you could start depositing your paychecks and apply for a new credit card so you didn’t have to pay for everything in cash.  
After you threw on some skinny jeans, a cute long sleeve top, and some tan booties you walked outside to hail a cab. When you got to the bank you saw a growing line to get to the tellers. No wonder people usually shot up banks, these people look like they’ve been waiting for hours.  
The line continued to grow, by now you had been waiting for about 30 minutes and your patience was growing thin. People were pushing through the line to get to the other side of the hall, since we were causing a road block. Someone had just pushed through the line behind you, making you stumble forward slightly.  
“Hey, watch it!” You said rudely, turning around. Then you saw him. HIM.  
“Oh Y/N, perfect, come with me.” Sherlock said dragging you out of line and down the hall, “I could use another set of eyes on this one.”  
“Sherlock!” You yelled quietly. “What the hell are you doing?”  
“Working a case.” He said casually.  
“Nice to see you too.” You scoffed, breaking free of his grip and walking beside him.  
“Where have you been for the last few months?” You asked insensitively.  
“Where have you been?” He retorted.  
“Working! You know… because I have a job.” I retorted.  
You followed Sherlock onto an escalator and you saw him look up and down.  
“What are you wearing?” He asked.  
“Ugh. I was running errands. Sorry I don’t wear a suit everyday like you. I’m on vacation, give me a break.” You argued .  
“Hmm.” Was his only response.  
The two of you got off the escalator and walked across to another desk.  
“Sherlock Holmes.” He told the receptionist.  
The receptionist brought the two of you up to an office to wait for whoever Sherlock was here to meet.  
“I didn’t mean you don’t look nice, you do. It’s just that you don’t usually look this… casual.” He covered.  
“Sherlock… you don’t have to.” You stopped him.  
“So where’s John?” You asked, changing the subject.  
“Grocery shopping. He got in a fight with a chip and pin machine. I had to give him my card.” He answered.  
You cracked a smile. “How does that even work?” You laughed.  
“It’s John, he could fight with a brick wall.” Sherlock smiled back as a man in a suit walked into the office room. He was about Sherlock’s height, short brown hair, blue eyes, and wearing a light grey suit.  
“Sherlock!” He greeted as he entered the room.  
“Sebastian.” He said, shaking his hand.  
“Hiya buddy. How long has it been, eight years since I last clapped eyes on you?” Sebastian said again.  
“This is my friend Y/N L/N.” He introduced the two of you.  
“Friend?” He asked with a smirk, turning to shake your hand.  
“Colleague.” You retorted. Friends don’t ignore each other for three months. Sebastian returned to behind his desk as you and Sherlock sat down in the chairs in front of him.  
“So you’re doing well. You’ve been abroad a lot.” Sherlock said, starting the conversation. You were curious as to why you were even here.  
“Well, so? Sebastian shrugged.  
“Flying all the way around the world, twice in a month.” Sherlock began.  
“Right. You’re doing that thing,” Sebastian scoffed, “We were at Uni together, and this guy here had a trick he used to do.” He informed you.  
“It’s not a trick.” You smiled.  
“He could look at you and tell you your whole life story.”  
“Yes, I’ve seen him do it.” You said casually, knowing you could do the exact same thing.  
“Put the wind up everybody, we hated him. We’d come down to breakfast in the formal hall and this freak would know you’d been shagging the previous night.” Sebastian said. You smiled at the thought of a younger, hopefully more human, Sherlock.  
“I simply observed.” Sherlock said, defending himself.  
“Go on, enlighten me. Two trips in a month, flying all around the world, you’re quite right. How could you tell? Are you going to tell me there’s a stain on my tie from some special kind of ketchup you can only buy in Manhattan?” Sebastian teased.  
“No I…” Sherlock began.  
“Maybe it was the mud on my shoes?” Sebastian cut him off, turning to you and smiling.  
“I was just chatting with your secretary outside. She told me.” Sherlock said with a straight face. You turned and looked at him, confused, and then turned back to a laughing Sebastian. Sherlock had never talked to his secretary, why was he saying that?  
“I’m glad you could make it over, we’ve had a break-in.” Sebastian explained. We left the office and followed him to the place where the crime had occurred.  
“Sir William’s office, the bank’s former chairman. The room’s been left there like a sort of memorial. Someone broke in late last night.” He explained.  
“What’d they steal?” You asked.  
“Nothing. Just left a little message.” Sebastian replied.  
We walked into an office with clean white walls, a brown desk, and a self portrait on the wall above it. Across the eyes of the self portrait was a line of bright yellow paint. On the wall next to the painting was another line and what looked like half an eight under it, also in the yellow paint.  
“Sixty seconds apart.” Sebastian said, showing us the surveillance video. One second the paint was there, the next it was.  
“So, someone came up here in the middle of the night, splashed paint around and left within a minute.” Sebastian explained.  
“How many ways into that office?” Sherlock asked.  
“Well, that’s where this gets really interesting.” Sebastian said, “Every door that opens in this bank gets logged right here.” He showed us a screen on the security system with the floor plan and little red dots where every door is. “Every walk-in cupboard, every toilet.”  
“That door didn’t open last night?” Sherlock followed.  
“There’s a hole in our security system. Find it and we’ll pay you, five figures,” Sebastian said, pulling out a check from his suit chest pocket. “This is an advance. Tell me how he got in. There’s a bigger one on its way.”  
“I don’t need an incentive, Sebastian.” Sherlock said as he tried to give him the check. Sherlock began to walk away from him. Sebastian turned to you, check in hand.  
“He’s uh… he’s joking, obviously. Should I look after that for him? Thanks.” Sebastian smirked and handed you the check. $5000, Jesus.  
“So what’s the nature of your relationship?” Sebastian said, making a pass at you.  
“There is no… uh, relationship. I work for Scotland Yard, Sherlock helps us out sometimes.” You explained awkwardly.  
“Of course. I wouldn’t expect Sherlock to be the one with an attractive American girlfriend.” Sebastian said. You smiled awkwardly and joined Sherlock back in the graffitied office. He was busy taking pictures on his cell phone. You walked over to the window and stared out at the breathtaking view.  
Sherlock looked over to you and furrowed his eyebrows. He came over and stood next to you. Suddenly he pulled the blind up and pushed the glass door open. A sudden thrust of air blew your hair back. The two of you stepped out onto the balcony. You looked down at what appears to be a 20-30 story drop. You had a small fear of heights so you took a step back. Sherlock noticed and turned back to you, ushering the two of you back inside. His actions surprised you. Sherlock never showed any kind of human emotion. Especially any kind of compassion for other people’s emotions.  
You stared at Sherlock, scanning every part of his face, looking, yearning, for a little more emotion, but there was none to be found. He squinted at you and then silently told you to go ask Sebastian some more questions.  
Sherlock began walking through the cubicles, offices, and hallways, looking for anywhere he could see the paint message from. He kept circling until he found the one. Obviously the paint was a message for someone, considering the office it was found in was unoccupied, it had to be for someone outside. It was meant for someone to come to work, sit down at their desk, look up, and that message would mean something to them. A warning? That was most likely it, considering someone broke-in in the middle of the night and appeared on no surveillance cameras.  
As Sherlock began popping up between desks, other office workers began looking at him like he was insane. He ran back into an office, turned around, and suddenly stopped. A thin smile began to grow on his face. You approached the office that he was in and stood in the doorway. You turned to the open glass door and slipped the black paper out of its hold. Edward Van Coon, the office’s occupant.  
You and Sherlock knew you had to go find this man. You took the escalator back down to the lobby.  
“Two trips around the world this month,” you began, “You didn’t ask his secretary, you said that just to irritate him.”  
Sherlock smiled proudly as you figured it out.  
“Was it his watch?” You asked again.  
“Precisely.” He said, maintaining his proud smile.  
“Time was right but the date was wrong.” You continued.  
“It was set two days ago. Crossed the dateline twice and he didn’t alter it.” He confirmed.  
“But within a month?” You asked, not sure how he worked that out.  
“New Breitling. Only came out this February.” He explained.  
“You sound like my dad,” you scoffed. Sherlock turned to you, confused, “He could name every brand of watches, the date they came out, with only a short glance. Same with cars.”  
“Is that all you people do in America? Memorize cars and watches?” Sherlock teased.  
“Some of us, yes. I’ve never taken much interest in them.” You said honestly.  
“So the graffiti was a message, right?” You said, changing the subject.  
“Right again, find the recipient and they’ll lead us to the one who sent it.” Sherlock confirmed. You slipped the piece of paper out of your pocket and handed it to him. Edward Van Coon, where are you?  
“Not many Van Coons in the phone book. Taxi!” Sherlock yelled as we stepped outside.  
“Don’t tell me you’ve got the phone book memorized too.” You teased. He smirked and didn’t give an answer.


	10. Chapter 10

The cab ride was fairly silent. You stared out the window, admiring the London view which you weren’t quite familiar with yet. You arrived at the address that Sherlock gave the cabbie.  
Sherlock rang the apartment bell for Van Coon and received no answer. He stared at it for a moment before pressing the button again.  
“Just moved in, floor above it, new label.” You told Sherlock, as he pressed the button.  
“Hello?” a woman’s voice replied.  
“Hi, um, I live in the flat just below you. I don’t think we’ve met.” Sherlock lied, using a voice that was more friendly and higher than his usual husky one.  
“No. Well, er, I’ve just moved in.” she replied again.  
“Actually, I’ve just locked my keys in my flat.” Sherlock acted.  
“Do you want me to buzz you in?” She asked.  
“Yeah. And can we use your balcony?” Sherlock added, but the woman had already buzzed us in. You knew exactly what Sherlock was planning, and you didn’t like it one bit. Heights were not your thing.  
The two of you got to the woman’s balcony and you made the mistake of looking down. You gulped nervously and your grip on the railing tightened. Sherlock looked at you and squinted.  
“I never pegged you as someone to be afraid of heights.” Sherlock commented.  
“There’s a lot you don’t know about me.” You retorted.  
“I doubt that.” Sherlock said as he jumped down from the woman’s balcony to the Van Coons. Sherlock waved you down, instructing you to do the same.  
“Christ, the things I do for you.” You muttered as you climbed over the railing. You jumped and before you hit the floor you felt two large hands engulf your waist, easing your fall.  
“See that wasn’t so bad.” Sherlock teased.  
“Shut up.” You said, breaking free of his grip. He smirked as you tried the door, discovering that it was left unlocked. You entered the flat with Sherlock by your side. He immediately began scanning the place, you did the same.  
The flat was modern and sleek. Everything was white, black, or grey. There wasn’t much clutter except for a few books on the coffee table.  
You both made your way around the flat, it looked pretty normal. Except for the fact that the refrigerator was only full of champagne. You both stood in front of the double doors leading to the bedroom. They seemed to be locked from the inside. Sherlock bust through the door with his shoulder, catching you off guard.  
“Jesus.” You muttered a your eyes scanned the room. It looked like the rest of the flat, except for one small detail. The dead body lying across the bed with a bullet in his head. The gun laid carelessly across the bed.  
You immediately called the police. A team was there within minutes. To yours and Sherlock’s dissatisfaction Lestrade appeared to be on vacation as well. You both put on gloves and began combing the flat. Even though the crime scene looked cut and dry, you were both sure it wasn’t a suicide.  
“Been away three days judging by the laundry. Look at the case, there was something tightly packed inside it.” Sherlock said.  
“Thanks I’ll take your word for it.” You retorted.  
“Problem?” Sherlock asked, slightly surprised at your response.  
“Yeah, I’m not desperate to root around some guy’s dirty underwear.” You answered.  
“Those symbols at the bank, the graffiti, why were they put there?” Sherlock said to himself.  
“Well, it’s some sort of code.” You added.  
“Obviously,” Sherlock retorted as he examined the body, “Why were they painted? Want to communicate, why not use e-mail?”  
“Because it wasn’t just a friendly message. It was some kind of warning.” You offered.  
“Yes, he was being threatened.” Sherlock said as he pulled something out of Edward Van Coon’s throat. Just as he was bagging the object a fellow detective walked into the bedroom.  
“Ah, Sergeant we haven’t met.” Sherlock said, offering up his hand for a shake.  
“Yeah, I know who you are and I would prefer it if you didn’t tamper with any of the evidence.” the detective said rudely. Sherlock put his hand down and handed him the bag of what was found shoved down the man’s throat.  
“I phoned Lestrade. Is he on his way?” Sherlock asked, not a fan of this detective.  
“He’s on vacation. I’m in charge. Not all of us get a week paid vacation even though we’ve been working here for years.” He said rudely, obviously about you.  
“Yeah, well not all of you do your job as well as I do.” You retorted casually, making sure that Dimmock knew his comment didn’t affect you in any way.  
“And it’s not Sergeant, it’s Detective Inspector Dimmock.” He said to Sherlock. Sherlock’s eyes widened slightly as he turned to you when Dimmock left the room. His eyes were saying ‘how can this idiot be a DI and you’re not”.  
“Don’t worry. I plan on taking his job within the next six months.” You winked. Sherlock smirked, proud you could read him that well.  
“That a’ girl.” He held his smirk.


	11. Chapter 11

The two of you followed Dimmock out into the living room of the flat.  
“We’re obviously looking at a suicide.” Dimmock said, and you lost what little respect for him that you might have had.  
“That does seem the only possible explanation of all of the facts.” You said sarcastically.  
Dimmock looked at the two of you confused.  
“Suicide is one possible explanation of some of the facts. You’ve got a solution that you like but you are choosing to ignore anything you see that doesn’t comply with it.” Sherlock scolded Dimmock as you smirked at him.  
“Like?” Dimmock asked, not believing the two of you.  
“The wound’s on the right side of his head.” You offered.  
“And?” Dimmock asked, still not understanding.  
“Van Coon was left-handed. Requires quite a bit of contortion.” Sherlock mimed. Trying to find a way to shoot himself in the right side of his head with his left hand.  
“Left-handed?” Dimmock asked, he was really getting on your nerves.  
“I’m amazed you didn’t notice, all you have to do is look around this flat.” Sherlock said, looking to you. He obviously wanted you to explain to Dimmock because he was tired of his stupidity.  
“Coffee table on the left-hand side,” you pointed around the room as you explained, “Coffee mug handle pointing to the left. Power sockets, habitually used the ones on the left. Pen and paper on the left side of the phone because he picked it up with his right and took down messages with his left. Do you want me to go on?” You asked Dimmock rudely.  
“No, I think you’ve covered it.” Dimmock said, a hint of shame in his voice.  
“I might as well, I’m almost at the bottom of the list. There’s a knife on the breadboard with butter on the right side of the blade because he used it with his left. It’s highly unlikely that a left-handed man would shoot himself in the right side of his head.” You added, honing in on your best impression of Sherlock, minus the accent.  
“Conclusion, someone broke in here and murdered him, only explanation of all the facts.” Sherlock added, pride in his eyes.  
“But the gun?” Dimmock asked.  
“He was waiting for the killer. He had been threatened.” Sherlock explained.  
“What?” Dimmock asked again, you rolled your eyes. You were too annoyed and tired to have to explain something else to him.  
“He fired a shot when his attacker came in.” Sherlock said, putting back on his scarf and coat.  
“And the bullet?”  
“Went through the open window.” Sherlock explained.  
“Oh come on, what are the chances of that?” He said, dumbfounded.  
“Wait until you get the ballistics report. The bullet in his brain wasn’t fired from his gun, I guarantee it.” You answered.  
“If his door was locked from the inside, how did the killer get in?” Dimmock asked.  
“Good, you’re finally asking the right questions.” Sherlock scoffed, leaving the flat, you in toe.  
“Not bad.” Sherlock said once you were alone.  
“What?” You asked, not sure what he was referring to.  
“Your impression of me.” He smirked.  
“Ah, I’ve gotten pretty good at it.” You chuckled. “So, where to now?”  
Sherlock glanced at his watch, it was nearly 6 o’clock. “You need to go put on a dress. We’re going out to dinner.” Sherlock stated, and you didn’t even ask. You assumed it was something for the case. It was just ignorant of you to think Sherlock meant some kind of date.  
After bringing Sherlock to your flat so you could change into a nice, black, professional dress you hopped back into a taxi to a high class restaurant by the bank. You understood the moment you walked in the door.  
Sebastian was sitting with five of his work friends at a table, sipping on fine wine.  
“It was a threat, that’s what the graffiti meant.” Sherlock interrupted, approaching their table.  
“I’m kind of in a meeting.” Sebastian said, slightly embarrassed. “Can you make an appointment with my secretary?”  
You stepped out from behind Sherlock, surprising Sebastian and his fellow sharks. He smirked as he looked you up and down, you were sure the rest of his buddies were doing the same.  
“I don’t think this can wait. Sorry, Sebastian. One of your traders, someone who worked in your office, was killed.” You said in a more sultry voice than usual.  
“What?” He asked surprised.  
“Edward Van Coon.” You repeated.  
“Killed?” He asked, shock setting in.  
“Sorry to interfere with everyone’s digestion. Still want to make an appointment?” Sherlock said, as if he was revealing his dominance over the group.  
“Would maybe 9:00 at Scotland Yard work?” You asked, pulling out your badge, causing the rest of the men at the table to drop their chins in shock.  
Sebastian joined you outside for a quick chat.  
“Harrow, Oxford. Very bright guy. Worked in Asia for a while, so…” Sebastian began to explain about Van Coon.  
“You gave him the Hong Kong accounts?” You asked.  
“Lost five million in a single morning, made it all back a week later. Nerves of steel, Eddie had.” Sebastian explained. If that wasn’t a motive, you didn’t know what was.  
“Who’d want to kill him?” You asked again.  
“We all make enemies.” Sebastian brushed it off.  
“You don’t all end up with a bullet through your temple.” You added, as Sebastian’s phone began to buzz.  
“Not usually. Excuse me.” He said, reading the text.  
“It’s my chairman. Police have been on to him. Apparently they’re telling him it was a suicide.” Sebastian said, doubting the two of you.  
“Well, they’ve got it wrong, Sebastian. He was murdered.” Sherlock said, urging him to believe.  
“Well, I’m afraid they don’t see it like that. Neither does my boss. I hired you to do a job. Don’t get sidetracked.” Sebastian said, walking back into the restaurant, leaving you and Sherlock out in the cold.  
“Dick.” You said as the door closed. Sherlock only sighed, but you could tell he was thinking the same thing. “I thought bankers weren’t supposed to be heartless bastards.”


	12. Chapter 12

It was getting late so the two of decided to head back to Baker Street. After Sherlock paid the cabbie, you followed him upstairs to where John was sitting reading the paper. You pulled the check Sebastian had given you out of your pocket and handed it to John.  
“Christ, what the hell is this?” He asked, eyes wide.  
“From our case today. It’s made out to Sherlock but I think it would be safer in your hands for now.” You smiled.  
“Right, thanks.” He said slipping it into his wallet.  
Sherlock sat down in his chair and began to think, you could tell he was away in his mind palace. After chatting with John for a little bit and bringing him up to date on the case, he decided to turn in for the night. You sat down in John’s chair and watched Sherlock think. It was the strangest thing, he barely moved, barely blinked. His eyes were open but it was like he couldn’t see what was straight in front of him. You don’t know how long you had been staring at him before you drifted off to sleep.  
The next morning you woke up on the couch with a blanket draped over you. You slowly raised yourself up and turned your head. You saw Sherlock back in his chair in his mind palace. You hoped he hadn’t been there all night and that he got some sleep. You also didn’t know how you got to the couch, but one question at a time.  
Just as you were waking up you saw John walk in the door.  
“I said could you pass me a pen?” Sherlock spoke suddenly.  
“What? When?” John asked confused, he turned to see if Sherlock was even talking to him.  
“About an hour ago.” Sherlock answered, you hadn’t realized that it was nearly 10 am.  
“Didn’t notice I’d gone out then?” John said, tossing Sherlock a Sharpie. He caught it without even turning his head or eyes. You were surprised, and a little bit amazed.  
“I went to see about a job at the hospital.” John explained.  
“How was it?” Sherlock asked, you wondered if he actually cared or he was just asking because it was social convention to do so.  
“Great. She’s great.” John answered.  
“She?” You asked, your voice husky and sultry from just waking up.  
“It.” John corrected himself, but he wasn’t surprised by your presence.  
“Look who’s finally awake,” Sherlock said, “Have a look at this.” He said while tossing his phone at you. You caught it with one hand, flipped it around and read the news page that it was on.  
“The intruder who can walk through walls.” You read, sitting up.  
“It happened last night. Journalist shot dead in his flat. Doors locked, windows bolted from the inside. Exactly the same as Van Coon.” Sherlock explained.  
“He’s killed another one?” John asked. You know where the three of you had to go. Even on your vacation you had to work, great.  
Since Lestrade was out most likely trying to salvage what was left of his marriage you had the delight to have to meet with Dimmock again.  
“Brian Lukis, freelance journalist, murdered in his flat. Doors locked from the inside.” Sherlock explained to an unhappy Dimmock.  
“You’ve got to admit it’s similar. Both men killed by someone who can walk through solid walls.” John observed.  
“Inspector, do you seriously believe that Eddie Van Coon was just another city suicide?” Sherlock asked, rhetorically.  
“You have seen the ballistics’ reports, right?” You asked Dimmock, making sure he felt like he was being ganged up on. He only nodded.  
“And the shot that killed him wasn’t fired from his own gun?” You asked again.  
“No.” He stated.  
“No,” you repeated, “So this investigation might move a bit quicker if you were to take our word as gospel.” Dimmock only rolled his eyes. You leaned down and put your hands on his desk. “We’ve just handed you a murder inquiry. Five minutes in his flat.” Dimmock rolled his eyes again and nodded.  
When the three of you arrived at the crime scene, you noticed a lot of differences in the two. For one Van Coon was in a completely different tax bracket than Lukis. The flats were polar opposites. Van Coons was sleek and well kept, while Lukis’ was disheveled and cluttered.   
Sherlock walked over to the window, looked out, and began muttering to himself. “Four floors up. That’s why they think they’re safe. Put a chain across the door, bolt it shut, think your impregnable. They don’t reckon for one second that there’s another way in.”  
“I don’t understand.” Dimmock said.  
“Dealing with a killer who can climb.” Sherlock said, off handedly.  
“What are you doing?” Dimmock asked again as Sherlock was inspecting the hallway with a skylight.  
“Clings to the walls like an insect,” Sherlock continued as if Dimmock wasn’t even there. He pushed the window open, “That’s how he got in.”  
“What?” Dimmock asked, dumbfounded.  
“He climbed up the side of the walls, ran along the roof, dropped in through this skylight.” Sherlock explained.  
“You’re not serious? Like Spider-Man?” Dimmock said, showing his stupidity.  
“He scaled six floors of a Docklands apartment building, jumped the balcony and killed Van Coon.” Sherlock explained, much to Dimmock’s disbelief.  
“Oh, hold on!” Dimmock scoffed.  
“And of course that’s how he got into the bank. He’d run along the window ledge and on to the terrace. I have to find out what connects these two men.” Sherlock said. He walked down the carpet stairs of the flat and picked up one of the many books the cluttered the edge next to the wall. He shoved it in his coat jacket and left to hail a taxi, you and John in toe.  
In the cab you noticed Sherlock looking at the seal inside of the book. West Kensington Library. You assumed that was where he was having the cab take us. Once we got there, Sherlock went to scan the book.  
“Date stamped on the book is the same day that he died.” Sherlock observed. We found where he had picked up the book from by following the Dewey Decimal System on the spine of the book. You started shifting some books around from where he must have picked it out. After pulling out a couple you noticed something strange on the metal selfing behind the books.  
“Sherlock.” You said, getting his attention, causing him to come and stand next to you. Behind the books in yellow paint were the same symbols we found at the bank.  
The three of us went back to Baker Street to try and piece everything together. When you were asleep Sherlock had begun taping pictures from the crime scene up on the wall above the fireplace.  
“So, the killer goes to the bank,” Sherlock began as you stood in front of the fireplace with him as John was in the kitchen making tea, “leaves a threatening cipher at the bank. Van Coon panics, returns to his apartment, locks himself in. Hours later, he dies.”  
“The killer finds Lukis at the library, he writes the cipher on the shelf where he knows it’ll be seen. Lukis goes home. Late that night, he dies too.” You added.  
“Why did they die, Sherlock?” You asked.  
“Only the cipher can tell us.” He sighed. “Come on, let’s take a walk.”  
You grabbed your coat and followed Sherlock out of his flat. He took you down to what appeared to be the London equivalence of Times Square. There was a huge fountain with an obelisk adjacent  
“The world’s run on codes and ciphers, Y/N. From the million pound security system at the bank from the pin machine John took exception to. Cryptography inhabits our every waking moment. But it’s all computer generated, electronic codes, electronic ciphering methods. This is different. IT’s an ancient device.” Sherlock explained as you followed him around the fountain and around a museum that much resembled the Met in Manhattan.  
“So modern code-breaking methods won’t unravel it.” You followed, “So, where are we going?” You asked.  
“I need to ask some advice.” Sherlock answered.  
“What? Sorry?” You said sarcastically.  
“You heard me perfectly. I’m not saying it again.” Sherlock sighed, seeing the smile on your face.  
“What do you need advice on?” You asked, seriously.  
“On painting. I need to talk to an expert.” Sherlock said. You followed him around the building until you spotted a vandal spray painting a brick wall.  
“Part of my new exhibition.” the vandal said.  
“Interesting.” Sherlock said, reaching in his pocket to pull out his cell phone.   
“I call it… Urban Bloodlust Frenzy.” He chuckled.  
“Catchy.” You scoffed.  
“I’ve got two minutes before a Community Support Officer comes around that corner. Can we do this while I’m working?” He asked. Sherlock handed him his phone so he could look at a picture of the graffiti from the crime scenes. He turned around slowly, and tossed one of his cans of spray paint at you, so he could hold the phone and look at the picture. You caught it easily, but were surprised by his actions.  
“Know the author?” Sherlock asked.  
“I recognise the paint. It’s like Michigan hardcore propellant. I’d say zinc.” He answered.  
“And what about the symbols? Do you recognise them?” Sherlock asked.  
“I’m not even sure it’s a proper language.” He said truthfully.  
“Two men have been murdered, Raz. Deciphering this is the key to finding out who killed them.” Sherlock said. You wondered how he knew his name, or even knew this guy at all.  
“And this is all you’ve got to go on? It’s hardly much now is it?” Raz said.  
“Are you going to help us or not?” You asked. Sherlock seemed to trust this man enough, so you thought it was wise for you to do the same.  
“I’ll ask around. Who are you? Sherlock’s girlfriend?” Raz asked you. You didn’t answer, only rolled your eyes.  
“Somebody must know something about it.” Sherlock said, never even paying attention to his quip about you.  
Suddenly someone yelled from around the corner. You turned around to see two guards running toward you.  
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” the cop asked you. You looked down to see the can of spray paint Raz threw at you still in your hands. “This gallery is a listed public building.”  
“No, no. Wait. It’s not me who painted that. I was just taking this from…” You turned around to see that both Sherlock and Raz were gone. Great. When you were turned around the officer looked in the bag at your feet that was left by Raz.  
“Bit of an enthusiast, are we? You’re gonna have to come with us, ma’am.” He said, as you turned back around to face him.  
“Ok, you know what, I don’t have time for this,” You said, reaching into your pocket to pull out your badge, “There have been two murders and I was questioning the man who was painting this. I confiscated this from him and he ran when you guys started yelling.”  
He grabbed your badge and read it for a minute. “So sorry Sergeant.” He said, letting you go and handing your badge back. You took out your phone and called Sherlock, who didn’t answer. You decided the best thing to do was just go back to his flat.


	13. Chapter 13

Once you got there you slammed the door and walked up the stairs to their living room.  
“You’ve been a while.” Sherlock said, staring at the pages taped above the fireplace, his back to you.  
“Yeah, well, you know how it is. Custody sergeants don’t really like to be hurried, do they?” You added insensitively.  
“Good, fine.” Sherlock said, not really paying attention to anything you were saying. “This symbol, I still can’t place it.” He admitted.  
You began to take your coat off as Sherlock turned around. He suddenly grabbed your coat and put it back on you.  
“No, I need you to go the police station and ask about the journalist, his personal effects would’ve been impounded.” Sherlock said as he ushered you out the door. “Get hold of his diary or something that will tell us his movements.”  
Sherlock grabbed his coat as well and walked out of his flat after you. “I’ll go and see Van Coon’s PA. If we retrace their steps, somewhere they’ll coincide. I’ve got John out looking too.”  
You hailed a cab back to Scotland Yard, and much to your disdain you had to go see Dimmock.  
“Your friend…” Dimmock began but you cut him off.  
“Listen, whatever you say, I’m behind you 100%.” You told him. After all, Sherlock had almost just gotten you arrested. If you didn’t work for Scotland Yard they would have probably made you go to court or given you an ASBO.  
“He’s an arrogant sod.” Dimmock said as he was retrieving Lukis’ personal effects for you.  
“Well, that was mild. People usually say a lot worse than that.” You said.  
“This is what you wanted, isn’t it? The journalist’s diary?” Dimmock said, handing you the thin black notebook. You smiled and nodded, quickly flipping through it until you found his planner. Stuffed inside was a ticket from the London Underground, the Tube. You decided that was your best bet of where to go next. After looking around there for a bit you ran into someone, quite literally. Sherlock, perfect.  
“Eddie Van Coon brought a package here the day he died. Whatever was hidden inside that case…” Sherlock began before you tried to start talking but he cut you off, “I’ve managed to piece together a picture using scraps of information. Credit card bills, receipts. He flew back from China, then he came here.”  
“Sherlock.” You tried again, with no such luck.  
“Somewhere in this street, somewhere near. I don’t know where, but…” He stated before you had the pleasure to cut him off.  
“That shop, over there.” You pointed.  
“How could you tell?” Sherlock asked, intrigued.  
“Lukis’ diary. He was here too. He wrote down the address. Plus John is standing inside, whatever you asked him to look for it seems to have brought us all to the same place.” You told him.  
“Oh.” He said, maybe slightly disappointed that you figured it out before him.  
You were now in the heart of ChinaTown. You walked into The Lucky Cat shop and found John. The shop seemed to have a bunch of fake chinese antiques, basically a tourist trap gift shop.  
“You want Lucky Cat?” The owner asked us in her strong accent.  
“No, thanks, no.” John answered. Sherlock smiled politely, and it fell when she looked away.  
“Ten pound, ten pound.” She tried again.  
“I think your wife, she will like.” She said to Sherlock, referring to you as his wife.  
“Right, dear.” You played along, grabbing Sherlock’s arm, suppressing a laugh.  
John was grabbing at things in the store, he picked up a ceramic cup and turned it over.  
“Sherlock.” He said, getting our attention. “The label there.”  
“Yes, I see it.” Sherlock said softly.  
“It’s exactly the same as the cipher.” You whispered. John put the glass down and the three of you left the store quickly.  
“It’s an ancient number system, Hangzhou. These days only street traders use it. Those were numbers written on the wall at the bank and at the library. Numbers written in an ancient Chinese dialect.” Sherlock explained as we walked down the street to another outdoor vender.  
“It’s a 15. What we thought was the artist’s tag, it’s a number 15.” You explained.  
“And the blindfold, the horizontal line. That was a number as well. The Chinese number one.” Sherlock explained.  
“We found it.” John said, a smile on his face.  
The three of you found a restaurant to go sit in and think.  
“Two men, travel back from China, both head straight for the Lucky Cat emporium. What did they see?” John said, talking to himself.  
“It’s not what they saw. It’s what they both brought back in those suitcases.” Sherlock explained.  
“And you don’t mean duty free.” John followed.  
Sherlock turned you, you were sitting next to him at the table. “Think about what Sebastian told us. About Van Coon, about how he stayed afloat in the market.” He whispered to you.  
“Lost five million, made it back in a week.” You nodded.  
“That’s how he made such easy money.” Sherlock said, looking out the window back towards the shop.  
“He was a smuggler.” John said, finally following.  
“I reckon he would have been perfect. Businessman, making frequent trips to Asia. Lukis was the same, a journalist writing about China. Both of them smuggled stuff about. The Lucky Cat was their drop-off.” Sherlock explained.  
“But why did they die?” John asked. “It doesn’t make sense, if they both turn up at the shop and deliver the goods why would someone threaten them and kill them after the event, after they’d finished the job?”  
Sherlock started to smile. “What if one of them was light-fingered? Stole something. Something from the hoard.”  
“And the killer doesn’t know which of them took it so he threatens them both.” You said, nodding your head.  
“Remind me, when was the last time that it rained?” Sherlock asked us.  
Neither of us answered because Sherlock suddenly jumped up and left the restaurant. We followed him across the street as he bent down and picked up a Yellow Pages book covered in plastic that was still wet.  
“It’s been here since Monday.” Sherlock said. He stood up and rang the bell of the flat that it was under. Above the bell in feminine writing said Soo Lin Yao. You and John followed Sherlock around the flat to the fire escape.  
“No one’s been in that flat for at least three days.” Sherlock said,  
“Could have gone on holiday.” John offered.  
“Do you leave your windows open when you go on holiday?” Sherlock asked, glancing up at the open window above the fire escape. Sherlock jumped up, grabbed the ladder and climbed up it before it went back up. You and John were too short to reach it. You groaned and followed John around to the front of the building hoping Sherlock would buzz you in.  
“Someone else has been here. Somebody else broke into the flat and knocked over the vase, just like I did.” You could faintly hear Sherlock yelling from outside the flat.  
“Do you think maybe you could let us in?” John yelled back as he rang the doorbell.  
“I’m not the first.” Sherlock yelled back.  
“What?” John yelled back through the mail slot.  
“Somebody’s been in here before me!” Sherlock yelled again. The rest of what he was saying was inaudible, he was probably just mumbling things to himself again.  
“I’m wasting my breath.” John sighed. You decided to ring the bell again.  
“Any time you want to include us…” John yelled again through the mail slot. John slowly began to chuckle as he turned to you, you could tell he was getting upset. “Oh, I’m Sherlock Holmes and I always work alone because no one else can compete with my massive intellect!”  
Suddenly the door opened and Sherlock stumbled out.  
“The milk’s gone off and the washing started to smell. Someone left here in a hurry three days ago.” Sherlock said coarsely.  
“Jesus, what the hell happened to you. You sound like you’ve been strangled.” You said, worried.  
“I’m fine,” he coughed, “Soo Lin Yao, we have to find her.”  
“How exactly?” John asked. Sherlock bent down and picked up a letter left on her doorstep.  
“We could start with this.” Sherlock said, his voice still coarse. He stumbled into you slightly, you caught him and helped him regain his balance. One of your hands was wrapped around his arm, the other was on his chest from catching him. You removed them slowly and awkwardly.


	14. Chapter 14

The three of you left to go and find the man that wrote the letter. It was written on an envelope from the National Antiques Museum. Funny enough, it was the same building that you passed earlier, the one that reminded you of the Met. You found the author, his name was Andy, he worked with Soo Lin Yao.  
“When was the last time that you saw her?” Sherlock asked Andy.  
“Three days ago. Umm, here at the museum. This morning they told me she’d resigned. Just like that. Left her work unfinished.” He answered.  
“What was the last thing that she did on her final afternoon?” Sherlock asked him. Instead of telling us, he decided to show us. He brought us back to the back where they keep things that aren’t out on display.  
“She does this demonstration for the tourists, a tea ceremony. So she would have packed up her things and just put them in here.” Andy showed us. As he was opening the door you saw Sherlock start to wander off down the hall. You turned to say something when you saw what he was looking at. Just like at the bank and the library: the graffiti. This time it was on a marble greek statue. That was all you needed to see.  
You and John followed Sherlock out of the museum. By now it was dark out, nearly nine o’clock.  
“We have to get to Soo Lin Yao.” Sherlock said.  
“If she’s still alive.” You said.  
“Sherlock!” Someone yelled from behind you, causing all of you to turn around. Raz, great.  
“Oh, look who it is. You know, I was almost arrested because of you.” You told Raz as he ran over to Sherlock.  
“Found something you’ll like.” He told Sherlock, not commenting on what you had told him. You followed Raz where ever he was leading you. He brought you to some kind of underground skatepark covered in graffiti.  
“You want to hide a tree, then a forest is the best place to do it wouldn’t you say?” Sherlock observed.  
“People would just walk straight past, not knowing, unable to decipher the message.” You followed.  
“There. I spotted it earlier.” Raz said, pointing to a huge white lightning bolt with visible yellow code underneath it.  
“They’ve been here. And that’s the exact same paint?” Sherlock asked. Raz nodded. Sherlock turned back to you and John to speak.  
“If we’re going to decipher this code, we’re gonna need to look for more evidence.” Sherlock told us. “We’re going to have to split up. John you go that way, Y/N, you’re with me.”  
“You don’t trust me?” You asked him.  
“No, I don’t trust the men lurking out here. You’re coming with me, end of story.” Sherlock said, he was being overly protective of you and you weren’t sure why. You decided not to fight it and just follow him.  
You spotted a yellow can of spray paint sitting in the railroad tracks. Sherlock walked over and grabbed it. He brushed his thumb over the spout, it was still wet, someone must have used it recently.  
Suddenly we heard someone yelling from behind us.  
“Answer your phone. I’ve been calling you.” John yelled, running towards us. “I found it.”  
We followed him back to where he said he found it, but there was nothing but a black brick wall out on the tracks.  
“It’s been painted over. I don’t understand. It was here. Ten minutes ago. I saw it. A whole load of graffiti.” John explained, dumbfounded.  
“Somebody doesn’t want me to see it.” Sherlock said. Suddenly Sherlock turned around and grabbed John’s head.  
“Sherlock, what are you…” John tried before he cut him off.  
“Shh! John, concentrate. I need you to concentrate. Close your eyes.” Sherlock instructed.  
“What? Why? What are you doing?” John asked. You stood there completely unsure how anything Sherlock was doing was going to help John remember everything on that wall. We weren’t like him, we didn’t have mind palaces or eidetic memories.  
“I need you to maximise your visual memory.” Sherlock said, grabbing John by his arms and slowly spinning him around.  
“Try to picture what you saw. Can you picture it?” Sherlock asked.  
“Yeah.” John answered, as if Sherlock was a lunatic and he didn’t understand the problem here.  
“Can you remember it?” Sherlock asked.  
“Yes, definitely.” John answered.  
“Can you remember the pattern?” Sherlock badgered.  
“Yes.” John answered, casually.  
“How much can you remember?” Sherlock badgered again.  
“Look, don’t worry.” John replied.  
“Because the average human memory on visual matters is only 62% accurate.” Sherlock advised.  
“Yeah, well, don’t worry, I remember all of it.” John answered, and you were curious to know how.  
“Really?” Sherlock asked, suspicious.  
“Yeah. Well at least I would if I could get to my pocket. I took a photograph.” John said, breaking free of Sherlock’s grip. You chuckled.  
The three of you hailed a cab back to Baker Street so Sherlock could print out the photo and you could all try and discover what the numbers meant. You had been staring at photos of yellow lines for hours before you passed out.  
“Always in pairs, Y/N, look.” Sherlock said, his voice waking you up. “Numbers, come with partners.”  
“God, I need to sleep.” You mumbled to yourself when you realised that it was 6 am and you only got 2 hours of sleep.  
“Why did he paint it so near the tracks?” Sherlock asked.  
“No idea.” You mumbled.  
“Thousands of people pass by there every day. Of course! He wants information. He’s trying to communicate with his people in the underworld. Whatever was stolen he wants it back. It’s somewhere here, in a code. We can’t crack this without Soo Lin Yao.” Sherlock yelled, grabbing the pictures off the wall and running out the door. You followed him, and John raised out of his chair and tagged along too.


	15. Chapter 15

“Two men who traveled back from China were murdered. And their killer left them messages in Hangzhou numerals.” Sherlock told Andy once we arrived back at the closed museum.  
“Soo Lin Yao is in danger.” You told Andy, playing his heart strings, hoping that his love for her would in turn allow him to be of more help to us. “That cipher, it was just the same pattern as the others. He means to kill her as well.”  
“Look, I’ve tried everywhere, friends, colleagues. I don’t know where she’s gone. I mean, she could be a thousand miles away.” Andy began, you noticed Sherlock staring at the pots that Andy told us earlier Soo Lin was working on.  
“What are you looking at?” You asked Sherlock.  
“Tell me more about those teapots.” Sherlock asked Andy, walking towards the display they were in.  
“The pots were her obsession. They need urgent work. If they dry out, then the clay can start to crumble. Apparently, you have to just keep making tea in them.” Andy answered.  
“Yesterday, only one of those pots were shining. Now there are two.” Sherlock observed, bending down slightly to look into the glass case.  
“She’s here, somewhere.” You gathered.  
By now it was dark and Sherlock knew Soo Lin would be back to tend to the pots. We spotted her in the museum vaults, making tea. Sherlock approached her from behind.  
“Fancy a biscuit with that?” He asked, scaring her. She gasped and the pot slid out of her hands. You jumped slightly, waiting for the crash, but it never came. Sherlock was quicker than that. “Centuries old. Don’t want to break that.” He said after he caught the pot. He handed it back to her as you flipped on the light.  
“You saw the cipher. Then you know he is coming for me.” Soo Lin Yao said. You and John approached Sherlock and stood next to him.  
“You’ve been clever to avoid him so far.” Sherlock said.  
“I had to finish. To finish this work. It’s only a matter of time. I know he will find me.” Soo Lin explained.  
“Who is he? Have you met him before?” You asked.  
“When I was a girl, we met in China. I recognised his… signature.” She said.  
“The cipher.” Sherlock said.  
“Only he would do this. Zhi Zu.” Soo Lin explained.  
“Zhi Zhu?” John asked.  
“The spider.” You said, recognizing the word. Sherlock looked at you quizzically as Soo Lin began to take off her shoe.  
“You know this mark?” She asked, referring to the tattoo on her heel that resembled a flower inside a circle.  
“Yes. It’s the mark of the Tong.” Sherlock answered.  
“Hmm?” John asked.  
“Ancient crime syndicate, based in China.” He explained.  
“Every foot soldier bears the mark. Everyone who hauls for them.” Soo Lin said.  
“You were a smuggler…” You said, surprised.  
“I was 15, my parents were dead. I had no livelihood. No way of surviving day-to-day, except to work for the bosses.” She said, sadly.  
“Who are they?” Sherlock asked.  
“They are called the Black Lotus. By the time I was 16, I was taking thousands of pounds worth of drugs across the border into Hong Kong. I managed to leave that life behind me. I came to England. They gave me a job, here. Everything was good. New life.” She said.  
“And he came looking for you.” Sherlock followed.  
“Yes, I hoped, after five years maybe they would have forgotten me. But they never really let you leave. A small community like ours, they are never very far away,” Soo Lin cried, “He came to my flat. He asked me to help him track down something that was stolen.”  
“And you have no idea what it was?” You asked.  
“I refused to help.” Soo Lin said, shaking her head.  
“So, you knew him well when you were living back in China?” You asked again.  
“Oh, yes. He’s my brother.” Soo Lin said. Sherlock looked up, surprised, “Two orphans, we had no choice. We could work for the Black Lotus or starve on the streets like beggars. My brother has become their puppet. In the power of the one they call Shan. The Black Lotus general. I turned my brother away. He said I had betrayed him. Next day I came to work and the cipher was waiting.”  
We showed her the picture of the symbols on the wall from the tramway.  
“Can you decipher these?” Sherlock asked.  
“These are numbers.” She said, pointing to the pictures from the bank.  
“Yes, I know.” Sherlock said.  
“Here, the line across the man’s eyes, it’s the Chinese number one.” Soo Lin said.  
“And this one is 15. But what’s the code?” Sherlock asked.  
“All the smugglers know it. It’s based upon a book…” Soo Lin said before we all heard the door slam. The lights shut off too.  
“He’s here. Zhi Zhu has found me,” Soo Lin whispered. Sherlock ran towards the door. You followed after silently instructing John to stay with Soo Lin Yao.  
“No, no, wait!” John yelled after you, but you were already gone and following Sherlock.  
You followed Sherlock out to the main corridor of the museum. You turned around and saw a man dressed in all black standing on the balcony. He fired a gun in your direction, but missed. He kept firing as you and Sherlock dove behind a large statue. You had almost made it in time when the last bullet grazed your side. It cut through your shirt and sliced open your skin. You whimpered as you placed your hand over it.  
Sherlock had already taken off after him before he noticed you had been hit. You followed him clutching your side. He pulled you behind a pillar when the shots started again.  
“Careful! Some of those skulls are over 200,000 years old, have a bit of respect!” He yelled. The gunfire stopped and Sherlock looked down to you. He saw the ever growing patch of red growing on your white blouse.  
“Y/N…” He said, his eyes growing with concern. He inspected the wound and looked up to you again. His hands were still on your waist.  
“I’ll be fine. Just a flesh wound.” You said. That’s when you heard it. Another gunshot, but this one was farther away. Soo Lin Yao…  
We ran back to where she was, you clutching your side. Then we found her, shot point blank, executioner style. It was nearly 15 minutes before Dimmock and his team had arrived.  
“How many murders is it going to take before you start believing that this maniac’s out there? A young girl was gunned down tonight.” You yelled at him.  
“What happened to you?” He asked, pointing to the blood stain on your shirt.  
“I was shot, well grazed really.” You said. “But that’s not my point. That’s three victims in three days. You’re supposed to be finding him.”  
“Brian Lukis and Eddie Van Coon were working for a gang of international smugglers. A gang called the Black Lotus operating here in London right under your nose.” Sherlock said.  
“Can you prove that?” Dimmock said. Sherlock accepted the challenge and we went to Barts. You went with John to get stitched up while Sherlock went off to find Molly.  
You walked into the morgue to find the bodies of Lukis and Van Coon out. Sherlock looked to you as you entered the room. You gave him a small smile, ensuring you’re all stitched up and okay.  
“We’re just interested in the feet.” Sherlock told Molly.  
As you had expected, both men had the same mark as Soo Lin Yao.  
“So…” Dimmock began, shocked.  
“So either these two men just happened to visit the same Chinese tattoo parlour or I’m telling the truth.” Sherlock said.  
“What do you want?” Dimmock asked, caving in.  
“I want every book from Lukis’ apartment and Van Coon’s.” He said.  
“Their books?” Dimmock asked, and you were just as surprised as he was. You didn’t understand what Sherlock could possibly do with their books.


	16. Chapter 16

The three of you left in a cab to go back to Sherlock’s flat. You asked the cabbie to drop you off at your place first. You needed a shower, and a change of clothes.  
After only about 10 minutes of Mrs. Astor and her worried examination you finally made it up to your flat. You slipped off your shirt and examined the wound. It could have been a lot worse. It wasn’t too deep, just enough to require a few stitches. It scared you more than anything. While you were in the shower you had some time to relax and think about the case. Why did Zhi Zhu need to go see Soo Lin? She was out, done. But he needed her help with something stolen… She works with antiquities. It struck you. The Black Lotus must have been selling antiques, smuggling them out of China. But we know something was stolen, hence the 3 murders. It must have been something extremely valuable, otherwise they wouldn’t make all this fuss. Then there was the books. Soo Lin had said that the cipher was based off a book. Meaning the book we need will be in both Lukis’ and Van Coon’s library.  
Something else Sherlock had said earlier struck you. The numbers always come in pairs, the numbers have partners. This reminded you of something that happened on National Treasure, a movie you liked. Three numbers, one referred to a certain document, one to a line in it, and the last to the word in that line.These two numbers must refer to a page and a word on that page.  
After this realization you quickly got dressed in a new shirt and some jeans. Your hair was still a little wet when you stepped outside. You began the 5 minute walk to Sherlock’s flat when your phone buzzed. You fumbled to get it out of your pocket when you ran into someone.  
“Oh I’m so sorry.” You said sincerely. Before you was a well dressed, handsome man, with a smile on his face.  
“It’s no problem, dear.” He said, his accent sounded Irish.  
“I’m sorry, you look so familiar. Do I know you?” You asked, returning the smile.  
“I don’t think so, it would be hard to forget a face like yours.” He smiled, cheesy line but it was working.  
“I just swear I’ve seen you somewhere…” You said, trying to place it. “Yes I have, oh at that Italian restaurant a little white backover on Northumberland Street.”  
“You know what, you’re right. I do remember you. If I recall correctly, you were there with a guy. Is he your boyfriend?” The stranger asked.  
“Oh no, no. He’s just a colleague.” You smiled awkwardly.  
“Where are my manners… My names Jim. I work in IT at Barts hospital.”He said sticking out his hand to shake mine.  
“Y/N L/N. Small world, I’m at Barts a lot too. I work for Scotland Yard.” You said, looking down to your watch.  
“You look to be in a hurry, I’m sure I’ll see you around some time. ”He smiled.  
“I’m sure I will.” You waved goodbye as you continued down the street.  
You finally read the message on your phone.  
How’s Sherlock doing? Haven’t heard from you in a while.  
MH  
You rolled you eyes and smiled at their childish feud. You sent back a reply quickly.  
He seems to be okay. We’re working a case.  
Y/I  
He replied immediately.  
Good. I heard you got shot, are you okay?  
MH  
This last text surprised you. It was uncommon for the Holmes brothers to care or show concern for anyone but themselves. You seemed to be the exception.  
I’m not even going to ask how you found out. But I’m fine, just grazed me. A few stitches.  
Y/I  
Before you realized it you were standing in Sherlock’s sitting room, sending your latest text to Sherlock.  
“Who are you texting at a time like this?” Sherlock said from behind a four foot tall barricade of books.  
“Your brother.” You answered.  
“My brother? Mycroft doesn’t text.” Sherlock said, annoyed.  
“Well he texts me. Does that mean I’m special?” You said, smiling in a cocky manner, just to bug him.  
“I’m sure I won’t have to catch you up on what you missed.” Sherlock said, changing the subject.  
“Expect not to.” You said, placing you bag and coat down on the couch.  
“Go on then” Sherlock said, wanting you to show what you have deduced about the case.  
“Soo Lin’s brother needed her help because of her work with ancient antiquities. The Black Lotus has been smuggling them out of China and selling them here for a lot of money. Something valuable must have been stolen by either Lukis or Van Coon. The code is hidden in a book, one that both of them will own. The numbers come in pairs, so one for the page and the other for a specific word on that page.” You said confidently.  
“Help us look.” Sherlock said with a smirk on his face. You smiled and obliged. You began looking through boxes and boxes, only to find a few matching books. You hadn’t realized it, but it was now morning. You had worked all night.The only thing that brought you out of your work trance was the sound of John’s watch alarm going off. John had to leave for work. You and Sherlock continued to look.  
“A book that everyone would own.” Sherlock began mumbling as he looked through his own bookshelf. You soon passed out on the couch, you had been looking for nearly 20 hours straight.  
“I need to get some air. We’re going out tonight.” Sherlock’s voice woke you as he talked to John, who had just walked through the door.  
“Actually, I’ve got a date.” John said, you sat up on the couch.  
“What?” Sherlock asked.  
“It’s where two people who like each other go out and have fun,” You told him, rubbing your eyes.  
“That’s what I was suggesting.” He said.  
“No, it wasn’t.” You said, standing up. You and John shared a look.  
“Where are you taking her?” I asked John.  
“Er, cinema.” He answered.  
“Ugh, dull, boring, predictable.” Sherlock rambled as he walked across the room.  
“Why don’t you try this?” Sherlock said, handing a piece of paper to John. “In London for one night only.”  
“Thanks, but I don’t come to you for dating advice.” John said, and you laughed.  
After John left you helped Sherlock look a little more but he seemed to be getting bored as well.  
“Why don’t we go surprise John?” He asked.You looked up to him confused.  
“How do you mean?” You asked.  
“I could call up, get two more tickets.” He suggested.  
“A double date with John.” You laughed, “I’m sure he’d love that.”  
“Yellow Dragon Circus in town for one night. The Tong sent an assassin to England. A killer who can climb, where else would you find that level of dexterity. Acrobats… Exit visas are scarce in that country. They would have needed a reason to get out.” He said.  
“You think this circus thing is a cover for the Black Lotus. Well it does fit.” You said. You’d also love to see the look of surprise on John’s face. “Sure, but I’ll need to change.”  
Did Sherlock just ask you out on a date?  
You got to the venue of the circus downtown with Sherlock. You were wearing a dark patterned skirt with a grey top and black jacket. Your heels clicked methodically on the pavement. You walked up to the ticket box where you saw John with his date.  
“No we only have two tickets.” John argued.  
“Then I called back and ordered two more. Hello, I’m Sherlock, this is Y/N.” He said. We shook hands with John’s date, her name was Sarah. She worked with John at the hospital. Sherlock suddenly took off down the hall, John followed suit. He didn’t look too pleased to see us. You and Sarah went to the bathroom to freshen up before the show began. She was actually really nice.  
We stepped into the room where the show would be. It wasn’t much of a circus, the room was small and the stage was a circle of candles on the floor.  
“You said circus, this is not a circus. Look at the size of this crowd Sherlock this is…art.” John whispered to Sherlock.  
“This is not their day job.” Sherlock reminded him.  
“No, I’m sorry I forgot. They’re not a circus, they’re a gang of international smugglers.” John scoffed.  
Someone began banging a drum, and the show began. A woman stepped out in traditional Chinese garments with her face painted almost entirely white. She revealed what appeared to be a huge wooden crossbow sitting on the floor nearly 5 feet tall. A long stick with a dagger on the end pointed out of it. You glanced up at Sherlock’s face. He was smiling like a child. He must have known the act.The woman plucked a feather from her headdress and placed it into a metal bowl at the end of the crossbow contraption. Suddenly the large arrow flew from the contraption and lodged itself into the wooden board across from it. The sudden movement scared you and you jumped and clung to Sherlock, your hands wrapping themselves around his arm. He looked down to you with genuine happiness. Something that you had never seen him do before. You smiled back, you loved seeing him like this.  
Another person walked out onto the stage now. He had on a mask that reminded you of the huns from Mulan. They began locking him in chains and securing him to the wooden board that had just been skewered by the stick  
“Classic Chinese escapology act,” Sherlock bent down and whispered in your ear, “The crossbow’s on a delicate string. The warrior has to escape his bonds before it fires.”  
Just as Sherlock said, the woman placed a new arrow into the crossbow. She then pulled out a dagger.  
“She splits the sandbag, the sand pours out. Gradually, the weight lowers into the bowl.” Sherlock whispered again. The woman stuck the dagger into the bag and it all happened just as Sherlock predicted.  
When it seemed like the warrior wasn’t going to make it, he was free of the bonds and fell to the floor just in time. The arrow pierced the wooden board.  
“My God!” John and Sarah said in surprise. Everyone began clapping. You turned to see Sherlock’s reaction, and he was gone. John had now turned around and was looking for him too.  
“Where did he go?” John asked you.  
“I have no idea, he was just here.” You said.  
Suddenly the lady began talking again.  
“Ladies and gentlemen, from the distant moonlit shores of the Yangtze River, we present, for your pleasure, the deadly Chinese bird spider.” You stopped looking for Sherlock when that last word hit your ears. Spider. Zhi Zhu. Dammit, he was right.  
The acrobat came down on two red silks, spinning, and well, flying. You saw the curtains behind the stage part slightly. You knew he was back here. How the hell did Sherlock sneak backstage in about three seconds.  
You heard some grunting and the curtains began to rustle slowly. You slowly started walking towards the curtains. Just as you were almost there, Sherlock came lying out from the curtain and fell onto his back. His attacked jumped down as well. You saw John running at the two of you. You tried to pull the assassin off of Sherlock but you weren’t getting anywhere. He swung back and his hand made contact with your face. You yelped and grabbed your cheek for a moment before returning to helping Sherlock.  
The assassin raised his sword above Sherlock, ready to strike down. John lunged at him from the side, and knocked him to the ground. When he was down, one swift kick to the face was all it took. While he laid there unconscious, Sherlock removed his shoe. On his heel was the mark of the Tong.  
“Come on. Let’s go!” Sherlock yelled, grabbing your hand and dragging you behind him. John and Sarah were running behind you.  
We made it to Scotland Yard and found DImmock.  
“I send a couple of cars. The old hall is totally deserted.” Dimmock said, annoyed.  
“Look, I saw the mark at the circus. The tattoo that we saw on the two bodies, the mark of the Tong.” Sherlock said.  
“Lukis and Van Coon were part of a smuggling operation. Now, one of them stole something when they were in China. Something valuable.” You told Dimmock, your cheek was starting to swell slightly.  
“These circus performers were gang members sent here to get it back.” Sherlock said.  
“Get what back?” Dimmock asked.  
“We don’t know what exactly.” You said quietly.  
“You don’t know. Mr. Holmes, I’ve done everything you asked. Lestrade, he seems to think your advice is worth something. I gave the order for a raid. Please tell me I’ll have something to show for it. Other than a massive bill for overtime.” Dimmock scolded, and there was nothing we could say.


	17. Chapter 17

You all made it back to Sherlock’s flat where all the books were still stacked.  
“They’ll be back in China by tomorrow.” John said as Sherlock took of his coat and scarf.  
“No they won’t leave without what they came for. We need to find their hideout. A rendezvous. Somewhere in this message it must tell us.” Sherlock said, running his hand over the pictures on the wall.  
“Well, I think perhaps I should leave you to it.” Sarah said awkwardly  
“No, you don’t have to go. You can stay.” John said at the same time as Sherlock said, “Yes, it’d be better if you left now.”  
“He’s kidding please stay if you’d like.” John said, covering up for Sherlock’s behavior.  
“Is it just me or is anyone else starving?” Sarah asked nicely.  
“Oh, God.” Sherlock groaned. You stepped on his foot forcefully to shut him up. “Ow.” He whispered while giving you a dirty look. You glared back.  
John went to the kitchen to look for some food. You knew there was never anything in that fridge but body parts. Sherlock sat down at his desk and began looking through all the evidence again. You stood next to him and did the same. Sarah was roaming around the sitting room, inspecting everything.  
“So this is what you do. You solve puzzles for a living.” Sarah asked.  
“Consulting detective.” Sherlock corrected her rudely.  
“Oh. And you too.” She asked me.  
“No, I actually work for Scotland Yard.” You said smiling.  
“What are these squiggles?” Sarah asked, now standing on the other side of Sherlock, pointing down to the pictures.  
“They’re numbers. An ancient Chinese dialect.” Sherlock said, his patience wearing thin.  
“Oh, right. Well, of course I should have known that.” Sarah said. Sarah picked up one of the papers and Sherlock looked as if he was going to blow a gasket. You squeezed his arm highly and shook your head. Silently telling him to behave.  
“So these numbers, it’s a cipher?” Sarah asked.  
“Exactly.” Sherlock said through gritted teeth.  
“And each pair of numbers is a word?” She said again. The two of you looked at her, extremely surprised.  
“How did you know that?” You asked.  
“Well. two words have already been translated, here.” She said pointing to the picture that we had brought to Soo Lin and Dimmock must have brought back from the museum.  
“Soo Lin must have started to translate the code for us. We didn’t see it. ‘Nine’ ‘mill’.” He read.  
“Nine million quid. For what?” You asked.  
“We need to know the end of this sentence. Ugh the museum, the restoration room. We must have been staring right at it.” He groaned as he slipped on his coat.  
“At what?” John asked, emerging from the kitchen.  
“The book John, the book. The key to cracking the cipher. Soo Lin used it to do this. Whilst we were running around the gallery, getting shot at. She started to translate the code. It must be on her desk.” Sherlock yelled as he ran out of the flat.  
“He’s certainly something else, isn’t he.” Sarah stated. You smiled and nodded.  
Suddenly a phone buzzed and interrupted your thoughts. It was Sarah’s, she read it quickly.  
“Oh hell. It’s the hospital. I’m so sorry, one of my patients has gone into labor.” She said, scurrying to get her things. After some goodbyes she left the flat.  
“Are you hungry?” John asked.  
“Actually yeah.” You answered.  
“I’ll order takeaway.” He stated and walking into the kitchen to get the phone.  
You tried to clear the table a little while John ordered some food. After a couple minutes you heard a knock at the door. You were taking off your jacket as John went downstairs to get it.You heard a bang downstairs.  
“John, is everything okay?” You asked, standing up. The moment you turned around you saw him. Zhi Zhu. You made a move for your gun but he was too quick. He pulled his arm back and his gun made contact with your head, knocking you out cold.  
You woke up to the sound of a woman’s voice, it was one you recognized. Your head was pounding and your wrists were burning.  
“A book is like a magic garden, carried in your pocket.” She said, as your eyes focused in the dark room you recognized her to be the woman from the circus. To your right was John, tied to a chair just like you. But you had a gag in your mouth, he didn’t. The ropes were digging into your wrists and you groaned from the pain in your head. You could feel the blood dried to the side of your face from being pistol whipped.  
“Chinese proverb Mr. Holmes.” She said to John. You were sure you heard her right, she called John by Sherlock’s name. He looked about as confused as you were.  
“I’m not… I’m not Sherlock Holmes.” He argued.  
“Forgive me if I do not take your word for it.” She said, reaching into the breast pocket of his jacket to get his wallet. He groaned in pain.  
“Debit card, name of S Holmes.” You remembered Sherlock telling you a few days ago how John had gotten in a row with a machine at the store so he gave him his card.  
“Yes, that’s not actually mine. He lent that to me.” John tried.  
“And a check for 5,000 pounds made out in the name of Mr. Sherlock Holmes.” She said. You were the one who gave that to John to look after.  
“Yeah, he gave me that to look after.” John said.  
“Tickets from the theatre collected by you, name of Holmes.” She said. Sherlock was the one who booked the tickets. This was all just a huge misunderstanding. But yet here we are, kidnapped in the Black Lotus hideout.  
“ I realise what this looks like. But I’m not him.” John said.  
“We heard it from your own mouth. I am Sherlock Holmes and I always work alone.” She said. They must have been following us. John said that, mocking Sherlock, when he left the two of us outside at Soo Lin’s flat.  
“Did I really say that? I suppose there’s no use me trying to persuade you I was doing an impression.” John began until the woman pulled out a small gun and pointed it at his head.You tried to yell ‘Stop’ but it just came out as muffled noise.  
“I am Shan.” She said, John shifted uncomfortably in his seat, the gun was still pointed at his head. “Three times we tried to kill you and your companion, Mr. Holmes. What does it tell you when an assassin misses?” She said. ‘Misses!’ You tried to yell again. Hot metal slicing open your skin isn’t quite the same as missing. She smiled a creepy smile at you when she understood what you were trying to yell. She cocked her gun and slowly pulled the trigger. You squeezed your eyes together tightly, waiting for the sound, but it never came. The gun let out a quiet click, telling us it wasn’t loaded.  
“It tells you that they’re not really trying.” She cooed. John and I let out a sigh of relief. She then proceeded to load the magazine into the gun. “Not blank bullets now. If we wanted to kill you, Mr. Holmes, we would have done it by now. We just wanted to make you inquisitive.Do you have it?  
“Do I have what?” John asked, confused.  
“The treasure.” She stated calmly.  
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”  
“I would prefer to make certain..” This whole time you had been so worried about John that you neglected to look right in front of you. Then you did, that was your mistake. In front of you was the same large, wooden, crossbow seen in tonight’s show. When Shan unveiled it tears escaped your eyes. You tried to wiggle free but the robes wouldn’t budge.  
“Everything in the West has its price. And the price for her life, information.” Shan said to John. Two men came and picked up your chair from the sides. They placed you right in front of the crossbow, so you were looking down the barrel, so to speak.  
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” John kept repeating as you cried and tried to yell.  
“Where’s the hairpin? The Empress pin valued at nine million sterling?” Shan said. All you could think about was that arrow piercing through you.”We already had a buyer in the West, and then one of our people was greedy, he took it, brought it back to London, and you Mr. Holmes have been searching.”  
“Please, please. Listen to me. I’m not Sherlock Holmes. You have to believe me I haven’t found whatever it is you’re looking for .” John pleaded.  
“I need a volunteer from the audience.” Shan yelled.  
“No, please, please!” John yelled.  
“Ah, thank you, lady. Yes, you’ll do very nicely.” Shan said approaching you. You continued to wiggle, scream, and try to break free. All the while tears were streaming down your face. Shan pulled out her dagger and pierced the sandbag just as she had done in the show.  
“Ladies and gentlemen, from the distant moonlit shores of NW1, we present for your pleasure, Sherlock Holmes’ pretty companion in a death-defying act.”  
“Please!” John yelled once more.  
Shan pulled an origami Lotus out of her pocket and placed it onto your lap. It was the same one found at Soo Lin’s death, the same we pulled out of Van Coon’s throat. They all meant the same thing. Death.  
“You’ve seen the act before. How dull for you. You know how it ends.” Shan said, but all you wanted to do was ram your fist into her smug little face.  
“I’m not Sherlock Holmes!” John yelled.  
“I don’t believe you.” Shan yelled back.  
“You should, you know.” A voice came from behind you as more tears spilled down your face.The weight was lowering closer and closer to the bowl, but you didn’t want him to see this.”Sherlock Holmes is nothing at all like him. How would you describe me, John? Resourceful? Dynamic? Enigmatic?”  
“Late…” John sighed.  
“That’s a semi-automatic. If you fire it, the bullet will travel at over 1,000 metres per second. The radius curvature of these walls is nearly four metres. If you miss, the bullet will ricochet. Could hit anyone. Might even bounce off the tunnel and hit you.” Sherlock spoke.  
You felt the robes at your back being tugged. Then you realized Sherlock was behind you trying to untie them. As you turned around to look at him you saw Zhi Zhu strangling Sherlock with the red silks from the show. You turned back to the crossbow to see John scooting his chair closer and closer to it. He was so close before he fell to his side. The weight was an inch from the bowl. You closed your eyes, knowing what was to come.  
You heard the sound of the crossbow release.  
You opened your eyes slowly to the scene around you. John was lying on his side, still tied to the chair. The crossbow was turned to the side. Zhi Zhu laid on the floor with the arrow deeply imbedded in him. Sherlock was behind you, trying to untangle himself from the silk. Shan was running down the corridor, never to be seen again.  
As Sherlock threw the silks off of him he bent down to untie you. Your heart was pumping so hard.  
“It’s all right. You’re going to be all right. It’s over now.” Sherlock said softly. He removed the gag from your mouth and moved in front of you to help you stand up. He grabbed both of your hands and gently lead you to your feet. You wrapped your arms around him and held on tight. When you released he brought his hands to your cheek to wipe your tears. While his hand still rested on your cheek, you boldly placed yours on the back of his head. You ran your fingers through his curls and pressed your lips to his. He seemed surprised at first, but after a second he kissed you back. You slowly pulled away.  
“Thank you for saving my life.” You whispered. He smiled, his eyes full of compassion.  
Sherlock called Dimmock and his team to tell him we had found the Black Lotus’ hideout. They were there within a few minutes. Sherlock took of his coat and placed it around your bare arms.  
“We’ll just slip off. No need to mention us in your report.” Sherlock said to Dimmock.  
“Mr. Holmes…” Dimmock began, but Sherlock cut him off.  
“I have high hopes for you, Inspector. A glittering career.” Sherlock said, beginning to walk off.  
“I go where you point me.” Dimmock said.  
“Exactly.” Sherlock said, joining you.  
When we made it to a cab Sherlock read us the cipher. Nine mill for jade pin, dragon den black tramway. He said it was instructions for all their London operatives. A message. What they were trying to reclaim. When the cabbie stopped in front of your flat, Sherlock insisted that he go in with you, just to make sure you’re okay.  
You unlocked the door to your flat and had a strong urge to just fall into bed. You hadn’t slept in it for days. Some kind of vacation this was. You took off Sherlock’s large coat and hung it up on the rack next to the door.  
“Would you like some tea?” You asked him.  
“Sure.” He smiled.  
“Great. There’s the kitchen.” You pointed and smirked. He laughed and got up and made two cups of tea.  
“I’m going to take a quick shower. Make yourself at home, turn on the TV.” You suggested as you stepped into your room. After a quick shower you examined the wound on your head. You have never been pistol whipped before. Definitely wasn’t fun. You decided that it wasn’t deep enough to require stitches, just a butterfly bandage would do. You could tell a bruise was starting to form under it, fun.  
After slipping on some grey sweatpants like shorts and a pink tanktop you re joined Sherlock in the living room. He was shouting things abusively at the TV.  
You smiled and sat next to him on the couch. He handed you your cup of tea, along with two pills.  
“Take these. It will help with the pain,” He said, you thanked him and took the pills. You sat next to him for a few hours and watched TV. You laughed at how petty and uneducated they were. Keeping Up with the Kardashians seemed to be the only thing on, but it was fun to make fun of them. Soon you fell asleep on Sherlock’s shoulder. He lifted you off the couch and placed you in your bed. Your eyes fluttered open as he pulled the blankets over you.  
“Sherlock…” You whispered as he was leaving the room, he turned around at the sound of your voice.  
“Please stay,” you said, placing your hand on the open place on your king sized bed, “I just, don’t want to be alone tonight.”  
He nodded, clearly he was tired too. He slipped off his shoes and crawled under the covers. You fell asleep only minutes later, but you felt safer with him by your side.  
Hours had passed just fine, until you started to have a nightmare. You could see the weight lowering into the bowl, but this time, it wasn’t you in front of the crossbow, it was Sherlock. You were tied up across from him, Shan holding a gun to your head. As the weight hit the bowl and the arrow made contact with Sherlock’s body you jolted away, a scream escaped your lips. Your breathing was heavy and you noticed you had woken Sherlock up too.  
“Hey, shh. It was just a dream. Everything’s fine. I’m right here.” Sherlock whispered, wrapping his arms around you as tears escaped your lips.  
“Promise you’ll never leave me.” You cried.  
“I promise. I could never leave you.” He said, rubbing soothing circles into your back. He pulled you down, your head resting on his chest. You fell asleep with his arms wrapped around you.  
The next morning you woke up, alone in your bed. Your heart sunk until you heard clanging in the kitchen. You crawled out of bed and wrapped your robe around you. You saw Sherlock in the kitchen with his hair a mess and his sleeves rolled up. You smiled at the sight.  
“Goodmorning.” You smiled as you saw him cooking.  
“Ah, she lives.” He joked. He turned around the handed you a cup of tea.  
“Thank you. I didn’t know you cooked.” You said.  
“I don’t usually. My kitchen is a little messy.” He smiled.  
“Of course. Now don’t get any ideas about sticking eyeballs in my microwave. I’d like to get my security deposit back someday. I don’t need you blowing things up in here.” You smirked and sipped your tea.  
“We’ll have to go back to the bank today.” Sherlock stated. You nodded and ate your breakfast.  
You slipped into a simple black sleeveless dress with white trim around the bottom. Accompanied with some small white heel you were ready to go. Luckily your wound was easily covered by your hair.  
As you were walking out the door, you thanked Sherlock again for everything. For saving your life, for breakfast, for staying.  
“Two operatives based in London.” Sherlock began as he helped you out of the cab. “They travel over to Dalian to smuggle those vases. One of them helps himself to something, a little hairpin.”  
“Worth nine million pounds.” You added.  
“Eddie Van Coon was the thief he stole the treasure when he was in China.” Sherlock said.  
“How do you know it wasn’t Lukis? Even the killer didn’t know that.” You asked.  
“Because of the soap.” Sherlock stated with a smile on his face.  
We made it back up to the trading floor to see Van Coon’s secretary. Sherlock had come to see her before while you had gone to get Lukis’ journal from Dimmock.  
“He brought you a present.” Sherlock said as we walked through the door.  
“Oh, hello.” She said, remembering him.  
“A little gift when he came back from China.”  
“How do you know that?” She asked.  
“You weren’t just his PA were you?” Sherlock asked.  
“Someone’s been gossiping.” She said, annoyed.  
“No.” sherlock stated.  
“Then I don’t understand why…” Amanda, the PA, began.  
“Scented hand soap in his apartment, 300 millilitres of it. Bottle almost finished.” Sherlock stated  
“Sorry?” Amanda asked, confused.  
“I don’t think Eddie Van Coon was the kind of chap to buy himself handsoap, not unless he had a lady coming over. And it’s the same brand as that hand cream there on your desk.” Sherlock said.  
“Look, it wasn’t serious between us. It was over in a flash, it couldn’t last. He was my boss.” Amanda explained.  
“What happened? Why did you end it?” You asked.  
“I thought he didn’t appreciate me. Took me for granted. Stood me up once too often. We’d plan to go away for the weekend, and then he’d just leave. Fly off to China at a moment’s notice.”  
“And he brought you a present from abroad to say sorry.” Sherlock said. You noticed the jade pin sticking out of her bun.  
“Can I just have a look at it.” Sherlock asked, extending his hand.  
“He said he bought it in a street market.” Amanda explained as she took it out of her hair.  
“Oh, I don’t think that’s true. I think he pinched it.” Sherlock said.  
“Yeah, that’s Eddie.” Amanda laughed.  
“Didn’t know its value, just thought it would suit you.” Sherlock turned it around in his hand.  
“What’s it worth?” Amanda asked curiously. Sherlock smiled, knowing his reply would shock her.  
“Nine million pounds.” He said, and as expected Amanda freaked out.  
“Oh my god, oh my god.” She said, standing up. “Nine million.” She nearly fainted.  
You snuck out of the office to go talk to Sebastian, as instructed by Sherlock. He stood when you walked in the room and shook your hand.  
“So did you two manage to figure out how he got in?” Sebastian asked.  
“Of course. The balcony. “ You smiled.  
He wrote out the check, annoyingly. The answer was so simple he was almost angry about all the money its cost him.  
“He really climbed up onto the balcony?” He asked, placing the 20,000 pound check into an envelope.  
“Nail a plank across the window and all your problems are over.” You answered with a smile.  
He rolled his eyes and smiled slightly as he handed it to you. You thanked him and left to go join Sherlock in the lobby.  
Sherlock hailed a taxi for the two of you to return to Baker Street. You told John about what had transpired at the bank.  
“Over a thousand years old, and it’s sitting on her bedside table every night.” John said.  
“He didn’t know its value. Didn’t know why they were chasing him.”Sherlock said.  
“Should’ve just got her a lucky cat.” John said, causing you and Sherlock to smile.  
“You mind don’t you.” John said, peaking both of your interests.  
“What?” Sherlock asked.  
“That she escaped. General Shan. It’s not enough that we got her two henchmen.”  
“Must be a vast network, John. Thousands of operatives. We barely scratched the surface.” Sherlock said.  
“You cracked the code though, Sherlock. And maybe Dimmock can track down all of them now that he knows it.” John suggested.  
“Sherlock cracked this code, but all the smugglers have to do is pick up another book.” You told him.  
Sherlock sat at his desk, reading the paper. John sat opposite him doing the same. For once it seemed like Baker Street was calm. No murders, no gunfire, no explosions going on in the kitchen. It almost seemed too good to be true.


	18. Chapter 18

You hadn’t seen Sherlock in about three weeks. You had been so caught up at work, since there were no big cases your whole department was drowning in paperwork that you all had been putting off. You had Friday off and you almost forgot about the lunch you had planned with Mycroft. He had picked the restaurant and sent a car to pick you up. You weren’t sure what he wanted to meet about but you were curious. You decided on professional look: blazer, top, tight slacks, and heels.  
You heard the car pull up as you were making your way down the stairs. You hadn’t seen Mrs. Astor all morning, she must have been off at the store. The driver knocked on the door and you answered.  
“Y/N Gregson?” He asked.  
“That would be me.” You smiled. He opened the car door for you as you locked up your flat. You thanked him and sat down in the back of the sleek black car.  
Soon you were at the restaurant and you stepped out of the car. Outside was Mycroft leaning on his umbrella. He smiled when he saw you.  
“Hello Y/N, it’s nice to see you.” Mycroft greeted.  
“Hello Mycroft, thanks for inviting me.”  
We walked into the restaurant which was packed, mostly with businessmen. There was a line waiting, the two of you walked up to the host.  
“Normal table Mr. Holmes?” He asked, as you skipped the line. Mycroft nodded.  
“Thank you Scott.” Mycroft said as you were seated at a table.  
“How’s work been?” He asked.  
“Kind of hectic. We’re backed up with paperwork we’ve been putting off.” You answered. He nodded.  
“You know, I still don’t know what you do exactly.” You stated.  
“That’s actually what I wanted to talk to you about today. I believe you are overqualified for the job you currently have. I think you’d be a better fit with me.” Mycroft said. You were surprised.  
“And what exactly would that be.” You asked.  
“You know I occupy a minor position in the British government.” He began.  
“Sherlock said you are the British government.” You smiled.  
“Well, specifically I run MI5, MI6, and the Secret Service. Among other smaller projects.” He said calmly.  
“Wow. I wasn’t expecting that.” You said, taken aback.  
“Will you consider it?” He asked.  
“To be honest, I don’t think I’m ready for something like that. I’ve barely been here six months.” You said, still in shock.  
“I understand, if you ever change your mind the offer still stands.” He said kindly.  
After a while you two were done eating and Mycroft had bought your meal. While you were waiting for the bill Mycroft asked a favor of you.  
“Anything.” you said.  
“Will you check on Sherlock. I’m sure you haven’t seen him in a while with work. If you haven’t had any big cases I’m sure he hasn’t either. I’m worried about what he does when he gets bored. He just got back from Minsk and that case turned out to be nothing.” He said.  
“What exactly do you mean?” You asked him.  
“I want you to check his arm.” Mycroft said, a serious tone in his voice. Your mouth formed an ‘O’ shape when you realized what he was referring to.  
“You think he’s been taking…” you looked down, not able to finish the sentence.  
“Exactly.” He said.  
“And what if I do find something?” you asked.  
“Distract him. Find him a case, anything. Keep him busy.” Mycroft said.  
“Alright.”  
As Mycroft walked you back to the car you said to him, “You’re a good brother Mycroft. He’s lucky to have you.”  
“If only he would see it that way sometimes.” Mycroft smiled. He opened the door for you, “Keep in mind my offer.”  
“I will, thank you again.”  
“Back home Ms. Gregson?” The driver asked.  
“No, actually can you take me to 221 Baker Street?” You asked and the driver nodded.  
When you arrived at Sherlock’s flat you thanked the driver and stepped out of the car. You heard gunshots inside and you quickly rushed up the steps to the front door. You opened it, surprised it was unlocked and rushed up the stairs. You nearly ran into John on his way out. He was clearly in a bad mood and you weren’t about to push it. You knocked on Sherlock’s open door and he turned to face you. He was in pajamas and his blue robe. He was standing near the window.  
“You here to tell me the earth goes round the sun too?” He asked, clearly in a bad mood also. He must have gotten in a fight with John about his blog, everyone at work was talking about it. Donovan took it as an opportunity to make fun of Sherlock even more so than she usually does.  
“Um, no. I was just passing by and I heard gunshots. What did the wall ever do to you?” You asked, seeing the holes in it.  
“I was bored. And I know you’re lying. You were with Mycroft, I can smell his cologne on you. I’m going to assume that either you two had lunch and he told you to check on me.” Sherlock began.  
“Or?” You asked.  
“Or you two are sleeping together and I really don’t want to picture that.” Sherlock said. You laughed.  
“No, we’re definitely not. He just gets worried about you.” You said, Sherlock rolled his eyes and sat down on the couch. You moved and sat down next to him.  
“So, I heard you just got back from Belarus.” you said.  
“Yep, open and shut domestic murder. Not worth my time.” He said, disappointed.  
“Shame, seems like you need a case.” You said.  
“Desperately.” He said. You began to inch your hand closer to his arm, ready to pull up his sleeve to see if Mycroft had been correct but he moved his arm, running his hand through his hair and laying back onto the couch.  
This was going to be tougher than you thought. Even if you did grab him fast enough, he processes things so fast that he would stop you before you got the sleeve up. You were going to have to distract him, do something that you knew would fluster Sherlock Holmes and give you a chance to see what you needed. Suddenly a plan popped in your head and a smirk grew on your face.  
“I’ve missed you.” You said seductively. He turned to look at you as you moved to straddle him. As planned, you placed your hands on the side of his face and placed your lips on his. He clearly was taken aback, as expected.  
He kissed you back and you used this chance to run your hand up his arm, exposing the area riddled with needle marks. You removed your lips from his and glanced down to see if it was true.  
You sighed and pinched the bridge of your nose, still straddling Sherlock. You shook your head and he realized what you were looking at. You got off of him, stood up, and began to walk towards the door when he stopped you, grabbing your hand.  
“Y/N…” He began.  
“Why?” You cut him off.  
“Without the work, without a case, my brain rots. I need something, anything…” Sherlock began, he was still holding your hand. He was cut off by a huge explosion, chattering the windows, and forcing the two of you to the floor. On the way down you hit your head on the coffee table, knocking you out cold.


	19. Chapter 19

You woke up the next morning in bed… Sherlock’s bed. It was probably 6 o'clock. John’s voice running up the stairs had been the sound that woke you up. You walked out, barefoot into the hall to track the sound.  
“I saw it on the telly, are you okay?” John asked Sherlock.  
“Me? What? Oh fine. Gas leak apparently. This one hit her head.” Sherlock said, sitting in his chair, his violin in his hands. He pointed the bow towards you. John turned to you, reaching to inspect your head. He was a doctor after all.  
“I’m fine, really. Could have been worse.” You said, pushing his hand away. You did have a killer headache though. You looked beyond John and saw Mycroft sitting in John’s chair. You moved and sat down on the arm of Sherlock’s large chair. Mycroft looked at you questioningly, and you knew he was silently asking about what he asked you to look for earlier. You looked down and nodded sadly. He looked disappointed, but not surprised.  
“I can’t.” Sherlock said to Mycroft, clearly continuing whatever conversation they were having earlier.  
“Can’t?” Mycroft asked.  
“Stuff I’ve got on is just too big. I can’t spare the time.” Sherlock lied.  
“Never mind your usual trivia. This is of national importance.” Mycroft scolded.  
“How’s the diet?” Sherlock asked, annoyingly stroking his violin with his long fingers.  
“Fine.” Mycroft asked, equally annoyed.  
“Perhaps you can get through to him, Y/N.” Mycroft said to you. You saw John awkwardly walk around the room, inspecting the damage from the gas leak.  
“If you’re so keen, why don’t you investigate it?” Sherlock said before you had a chance to speak.  
“No, I can’t possibly be away from the office for any length of time. Not with the Korean elections so…” He cut himself off as we all looked at him curiously.  
“Well, you don’t need to know about that, do you? Besides, a case like this, it requires… legwork.” Mycroft said.  
“How’s Sarah, John? How was the lilo?” Sherlock said, after rolling his eyes to Mycroft.  
“Sofa. It was the sofa.” You corrected.  
“She’s quite right you know.” Mycroft said.  
“Oh, yes, of course.” Sherlock said, dragging his attention back to his violin.  
“How… oh never mind.” John said, sitting down on the couch.  
“Sherlock’s business seems to be booming since you three became… pals. What’s he like to live with? Hellish, I imagine.” Mycroft said, directing his question towards John.  
“I’m never bored.” John answered.  
“Good. That’s good, isn’t it?” Mycroft said, standing. He tried to hand a file to Sherlock but he wouldn’t take it. Instead Mycroft turned to you and you took it out of his hands, still sitting on the arm of Sherlock’s chair.  
“Andrew West, known as Westie to his friends. Civil servant. Found dead on the tracks at Battersea Station this morning with his head smashed in.” Mycroft explained.  
“Jumped in front of a train?” John asked.  
“Seems the logical assumption.” Mycroft said.  
“But?” You asked.  
“But?” Mycroft asked back.  
“Well, you wouldn’t be here if it was just an accident.” You said. Sherlock half laughs.  
“The MOD is working on a new missile defense system. The Bruce-Partington program it’s called. The plans for it were on a memory stick.” Mycroft continued to explain.  
“That wasn’t very clever.” John chuckled.  
“It’s not the only copy. But it is secret, and missing.” Mycroft said annoyed. You could see the delight on Sherlock’s face that his friend was as rude to his brother as he was.  
“Top secret?” John asked.  
“Very. We think West must have taken the memory stick. We can’t possibly risk it falling into the wrong hands. You’ve got to find those plans, Sherlock.” Mycroft said.  
“Don’t make me order you.” Mycroft threatened lightly.  
“I’d like to see you try.” Sherlock smirked, and Mycroft turned to you.  
“I hope you haven’t forgotten my offer.” Mycroft said to you.  
“Of course not.” You answered as Sherlock began to play his violin loudly, in order to get Mycroft out of the flat.  
“Why’d you lie? You’ve got nothing on. Not a single case. That’s why the wall took a pounding. You did you tell your brother you were busy?” John asked Sherlock.  
“Why shouldn’t I?” Sherlock said.  
“Sibling rivalry.” You said, looking down to him and shaking your head. You smirked and his phone rang.  
“Sherlock Holmes.” He answered after digging it out of his interior coat pocket.  
“Of course. How could I refuse. Yes, she’s here. She’s fine, just hit her head.” Sherlock talked into the phone.  
“Lestrade. We’ve been summoned. Coming?” Sherlock asked John.  
“If you want me to.” John said.  
“Of course. I’d be lost without my blogger.” Sherlock smiled, clearly they were both over whatever fight they had.


	20. Chapter 20

“We were worried when you didn’t come in this morning.” Lestrade said to you.  
“Bit of a weird night.” You said, following Lestrade into his office where Donovan was waiting.  
“Oh, look who decided to show up. What’d you do? Bang your head against the headboard to hard?” Donovan said, smirking and pointing to your bruised temple.  
“Good morning to you too Sally.” You fake smiled, she was only jealous because Lestrade liked you more.  
“You like the funny cases don’t you, the surprising ones.” Lestrade said to Sherlock, changing the subject.  
“Obviously.” Sherlock said.  
“Then you’ll love this.” Lestrade said. “That explosion.”  
“Gas leak, yes.” Sherlock said.  
“No.” Lestrade returned.  
“No?” Sherlock asked surprised.  
“No, made to look like one,” Lestrade explained, “Nothing left of the place, except a strong box. A very strong box, and inside it was this.” Lestrade said pointing to an envelope on his desk.  
“You haven’t opened it.” Sherlock observed.  
“It’s addressed to you, isn’t it?” Lestrade said. “We’ve X-rayed it. It’s not booby-trapped.”  
“How reassuring.” Sherlock said. He examined the thick envelope under a desk lamp. “Nice stationary, Bohemian. From the Czech Republic. She used a fountain pen. Parker Duofold, iridium nib.” Sherlock deduced. He began to open it and dumped its contents out onto his hand. It was an iPhone in a pink case.  
“But that… that’s the phone. The pink phone.” John stammered.  
“What, from The Study in Pink?” Lestrade asked.  
“Well obviously it’s not the same phone but it’s supposed to look like… A Study in Pink? You read his blog?” Sherlock asked annoyed.  
“Of course I read his blog. We all do. Do you really not know that the Earth goes round the sun?” Lestrade asked, and Donovan snickered as she walked out of the room.  
“It isn’t the same phone. This one’s brand-new. Someone’s gone to a lot of trouble to make it look like the same phone. Which means your blog has a far wider readership.” Sherlock said as he clicked the phone on. He went to the voicemail but all it was was 5 pips.  
“Was that it?” Lestrade asked.  
“No that’s not it.” Sherlock said, and he was right. After the message was over the phone received a text. It was a picture of a disheveled flat.  
“What the hell are we supposed to make of that? An estate agent’s photo and the bloody Greenwich pips.” Lestrade said.  
“It’s a warning. Some secret societies used to send dried melon seeds, orange pips, things like that. Five pips. They’re warning us it’s going to happen again.” Sherlock said.  
“Hang on. I’ve seen that place before.” You said, taking the phone out of Sherlock’s hand.  
“What’s gonna happen again?” John asked.  
“Boom!” Sherlock replied.  
The three men followed you out to the street to fetch a cab.  
“I looked at this flat when I first moved here. We could have been flatmates.” You said to Sherlock.  
“How do you mean?” Sherlock asked.  
“This picture, it’s of 221C Baker Street.” You explained and the four of you caught a cab back to Sherlock’s flat. Sherlock hopped out first and went to unlock the door. The other two men followed, leaving you to pay.  
“I’ll just pay then.” You said annoyingly as you handed the cabbie the fare.  
“Mrs. Hudson!” Sherlock yelled as we entered the flat.  
“I knew you looked familiar dear. You came to see about this flat around the same time Sherlock moved in here.” Mrs. Hudson said to you as she handed Sherlock the key.  
“This door has been opened, recently.” He said.  
“No, can’t be. That’s the only key. I can’t get anyone interested in this flat. It’s the damp, I expect. That’s the curse of basements. I’d a place once when I was first married. Black mold all up the wall…” Mrs. Hudson said, as the three men ignored her and walked down the stairs.  
“Men…” you shrugged and smiled at her before following the guys down the stairs. When you made it to the bottom you saw that the only thing in the empty room were a pair of tennis shoes in the center. Sherlock began to walk towards them.  
“He’s a bomber, remember.” John said, Sherlock continued on carefully. He knelt down next to the shoes slowly. Suddenly the pink phone rang, nearly making you jump. He stood up and answered it.  
“Hello?” He asked.  
“H…Hello… sexy.” the voice began, she was crying.  
“Who is this?” Sherlock asked.  
“I’ve…sent you… a little puzzle, just to say hi.”  
“Who’s talking? Why are you crying?” Sherlock asked.  
“I’m not crying. I’m typing and this study bitch is reading it out.”  
“The curtain rises.” Sherlock mumbles to himself.  
“What?” John asked, having heard him.  
“Nothing.” Sherlock said.  
“No, what did you mean?” John said.  
“I’ve been expecting this for some time.” Sherlock replied.  
“Twelve hours to solve my puzzle, Sherlock or I’m going to be so naughty.” The call ended.  
Lestrade caught a cab back to Scotland Yard to start working things out back there, look for this poor kidnapped lady. He instructed you to stay with Sherlock. This case was clearly all about him. Sherlock, John, and you went to Bart’s so you could start examining the shoes. Thank God Sherlock is a graduate Chemist.  
When you walked in the lab you hung up your blazer on the coat rack. Now you were just in heels, tight slacks, and a brown strappy blouse.  
“Who do you think it was?” John asked, you weren’t sure if he was talking to Sherlock or you.  
“The woman on the phone… the crying woman.” John said again.  
“She’s just a hostage.” You said.  
“She doesn’t matter, no lead there.” Sherlock said.  
“For god sake I wasn’t thinking about leads.” John said.  
“You’re not going to be much use to her.” Sherlock said to John.  
You walked behind Sherlock and examined all his equipment out on the lab table. On his computer he was trying to find a match for the dirt lodged in the bottom of the shoes.  
“Are you trying to trace it, trace the call?” John asked you.  
“No, whoever is doing this, planning all these intricate puzzles out for him,” you said pointing to Sherlock, “is not dumb enough to let his whole scheme crumple because of one traced call, he’ll have either re routed it through proxy servers or blocked the trace completely. This man is completely organized, I don’t plan on him making any mistakes.”  
“Can you pass me my phone?” Sherlock asked you.  
“Where is it?” You asked, standing behind him.  
“My jacket.” He said. You rolled your eyes and reached into his jacket, your hand running against his chest and reaching into the breast pocket to pull out his phone.  
“It’s a text from Mycroft.” You said, looking at his phone.  
“Delete it.” He instructed, never looking up from the microscope.  
“Delete it?” You asked, not sure why he wouldn’t even read it.  
“Missile plans are out of the country now. Nothing we can do about it.” Sherlock said.  
“Well, Mycroft thinks there is. He’s texted you eight times. Must be important.” You said.  
“Then why didn’t he cancel his dental appointment? Mycroft never texts if he can talk.” Sherlock said.  
“That’s not true, he texts me all the time.” You said.  
“That’s because he’s infatuated with you. Look, Andrew West stole the missile plans, tried to sell them, got his head smashed in for his pains. End of story. The only mystery is this, why is my brother so determined to bore me when somebody else is being so delightfully interesting?” Sherlock said.  
“Hold up… Did you say Mycroft was infatuated with me?” You laughed.  
“Well he did take you to lunch yesterday didn’t he?” Sherlock said.  
“Well so? He also offered me a job, that doesn’t mean he’s infatuated with me.” You argued.  
“You’re probably the first woman he’s ever met that’s his intellectual equal… or at least mine.” Sherlock said. You were astounded, firstly by the fact that Sherlock believed you were his intellectual equal, which was saying something, and secondly by the fact that he thought Mycroft was basically in love with you.  
“Try and remember there’s a woman here who might die.” John said, disappointed in our banter.  
“What for? There’s hospitals full of people dying, Doctor. Why don’t you go and cry by their bedside? See what good it does then.” Sherlock replied insensitively. John got a little upset and walked out the door. He probably just went to the loo, he’d be back in five minutes. He does love to be dramatic though.  
Suddenly Sherlock’s computer beeped, indicating its found a match for the dirt on the shoes. As Molly walked in the door your phone rang, Lestrade was checking in.  
“Any luck?” Molly asked.  
“Oh yes!” Sherlock said excitedly. You turned to take the call.  
‘Hey, any luck with the missing persons reports?” You asked Lestrade, who was looking if any women had been reported missing within the last few days. You heard the door open again and another voice was heard in the room.  
Molly was introducing the man to Sherlock, she then turned to you  
“And this is Sergeant Gregson.” Molly said, you turned around at the sound of your name and quickly shook the man’s hand, clearly more interested in your phone call.  
“No none reported recently. What about on your end?” Lestrade asked.  
“Hang on let me ask… Sherlock Lestrade wants to know the progress.” you said. You turned to Sherlock, your phone still pressed against your ear. You rested the other hand on the lab table next to him.   
“Tell him to meet us at our flat in an hour.” Sherlock said, still looking into the microscope.  
“So you’re Sherlock Holmes. Molly told me all about you, are you on one of your cases?” The man said, clearly no one was going to reply.  
“Did you hear that?” You asked Lestrade.  
“Jim works in IT, upstairs. That’s how we met. Office romance.” Molly giggled.  
“Yup, I’ll see you guys then.” Lestrade said.  
“Gay. I mean, hey.” Sherlock said, after one glance at the man.  
“Alright, bye.” You said, ending the call.  
“Well, I better be off. I’ll see you at the Fox. About six-ish?” The man said, turning and walking towards the door. You never got a clear look at his face but the fact that his underwear was hanging off was good enough to prove to you that this man was indeed gay.  
“What do you mean gay? We’re together.” Molly said.  
“And domestic bliss must suit you, Molly. You’ve put on three pounds since I last saw you.” Sherlock said rudely.  
“Two and a half.” she tried to defend herself.  
“No, three.” Sherlock stated again.  
“Sherlock.” you said, warning him.  
“He’s not gay! Why do you have to spoil… He’s not!” Molly yelled.  
“Please, with that level of personal grooming? Tinted eyelashes. Clear signs of taurine cream around the frown lines, those tired, clubber’s eyes. Then there’s his underwear.” Sherlock scoffed.  
“His underwear?” Molly asked, appalled.  
“Visible above the waistline. Very visible, very particular brand. That plus the extremely suggestive fact that he just left his number under this dish here.” Sherlock said, picking up the piece of paper.  
“Maybe the number was for her, I mean her tits are practically hanging out.” Molly said pointing to you.  
“Hey! Even if the number was for me, do you really want to continue dating someone who was trying to pick up another chick right in front of his current girlfriend. I’d say you better break it off now and save yourself the pain.” You said. Molly rushed out the door angrily.  
You immediately looked down at your chest. Contrary to Molly’s statement, your breasts weren’t hanging out that much. You couldn’t help it you had them, they were just there. You pulled the straps up on your blouse to see if they’d go in any more but you had no such luck. Sherlock noticed what you were doing.  
“What she said bothered you didn’t it?” He asked. You looked up awkwardly, your hands practically on your boobs.  
“Well, yeah.” You said, moving your hands to your waist.  
“Leave them alone, they look great.” Sherlock said. You blushed.  
“Sherlock!” You giggled, punching him lightly on the arm.   
“What?” Sherlock smirked.  
“I don’t know, it’s just not like you to say something like that.” You laughed.  
“I guess I’ve just never had anyone make me feel like you do.” He said, your eyes widened as you looked into his blue orbs. All you wanted to do right now was run your hands through those curls and let him take you on this table. The computer beeping broke your thoughts.  
Sherlock pushed one of the shoes towards you, asking you to take it. You raised an eyebrow at him.  
“You know what I do, go on.” Sherlock said.  
“You want me to do what you do?” you asked and he nodded. You smirked and picked up the shoe.  
“They’re very clean, but the sole of well worn, suggesting they’re old. Cleaned properly, the owner must have loved them. They’re quite large, suggesting a man, but there’s faint traces of marker inside where a name would have been written.” You said, in an arrogant way with your best British accent.  
“You’re on sparkling form, what else?” Sherlock said, smiling at the accent.  
“Adults don’t write their names in their shoes so these belonged to a child. Very ‘80s. Could be retro, or could be originals. If he loved them, kept this good care of them, then why did he lose them or give them up?” You added. “How did I do?”  
“Well, Y/N, really well. I mean you missed almost everything of importance, but.” Sherlock said in an American accent. You laughed.  
“That’s my line.” You said, smirking.  
“Well, you know. I thought we were just doing impressions now,” Sherlock laughed, “You said that to me the day we met. God, I was so excited to find someone like me.” You smirked. You liked this Sherlock, this flirty, cocky, but still sweet. And always sexy.  
“Your turn.” you smiled, handing him the shoe.  
“Well you haven’t left me much left. He changed the laces three… No, four times. Even so, there are traces of his flaky skin where his fingers have come into contact with them so he suffered from eczema. Weak arches. Analysis shows the mud is from Sussex with London mud overlaying it. So the kid who owned these trainers, came to London from Sussex 20 years ago and left them behind.”  
“So what happened to him?” You asked.  
“Something bad. So a child with big feet gets…” Sherlock began and then he stopped. His eyes grew wide and you could tell he was thinking or remembering something.  
“What?” you asked.  
“Carl Powers.” He whispered.  
“Who is that?” You asked.  
“It’s where I began, Y/N. Go find John, we need to get back to Baker Street.” Sherlock instructed and you nodded.  
When the three of you returned to Baker street, Lestrade was there waiting for you.  
“Who is Carl Powers?” You asked Sherlock.  
“1989, young kid, champion swimmer, came up from Brighton for a school sports tournament, drowned in the pool. Tragic accident. You wouldn’t remember it. Why should you?”  
“But you remember?” You asked him.  
“Yes.” He answered.  
“Something fishy about it?” You asked again.  
“Nobody thought so. Nobody except me. I was only a kid myself. I read about it in the papers.” Sherlock continued.  
“You started young, didn’t you.” John commented.  
“The boy, Carl Powers, had some kind of fit in the water, but by the time they got him out, it was too late. There was something wrong somewhere. I couldn’t get it out of my head.” sherlock said.  
“What?” Lestrade asked.  
“His shoes. They weren’t there. I made a fuss. I tried to get the police interested but nobody seemed to think it was important. He’d left all the rest of his clothes in the locker. But there was no sign of his shoes. Unit now.” Sherlock said, holding up the evidence bag with the shoes inside. You looked at your watch, there was only 6 hours left to solve the puzzle.  
Sherlock sat down in the kitchen at his laptop researching. You sat opposite of him with Lestrade sifting through newspaper clippings. John was pacing in the living room, you knew he was concerned with the time and the kidnapped woman.  
Sometimes, as an investigator it can be hard to remove yourself from the consequences. Just focus on the solution and stop stressing about what would happen if you didn’t solve the puzzle. In time sensitive cases like these it can be increasingly hard. Sherlock obviously has no problem with this. He wouldn’t even blink an eye if this woman died, all he cared about was solving it. Playing the game. Winning.  
“Can I help? I want to help there’s only five hours left.” John said through the door, breaking you all out of your train of thought. You heard your phone ding in the other room.  
“John would you mind getting that for me? It’s on the coffee table, thanks.” You said as he walked off to fetch it.  
“It’s your brother. He’s texting her now about his case.” John said to Sherlock.  
“Must be a root canal.” Sherlock said. John placed your phone on the table in front of you as you continued looking through the clippings.  
“Look, he did say National importance.” John said.  
“Hmph, how quaint.” Sherlock scoffed.  
“What is?” John asked.  
“You are. Queen and country.” Sherlock mocked, paying more attention to his investigation.  
“You can’t just ignore it.” John chastised.  
“I’m not ignoring it. I’m putting my best man onto it right now.” Sherlock said.  
“Right good. Who’s that?” John asked, naively. You smirked, Sherlock looked up to him and raised his eyebrow.  
“Well you better get going. Like you said… National importance.” Sherlock said.  
The next time you looked at your watch there were only 3 hours left. Sherlock had moved to his microscope and Lestrade had gone out for coffee. Sherlock was analyzing the shoelaces from Carl Power’s trainers.  
“Poison!” Sherlock yelled suddenly.  
“What you going on about?” Mrs. Hudson asked, you hadn’t realized she’d entered the room to bring you all food.  
“Clostridium botulinum! It’s one of the deadliest poisons on the planet.” Sherlock said.  
“Are you saying he was murdered?” Lestrade asked from the doorway. He handed you your coffee and you thanked him.  
“Remember the shoelaces. The boy suffered from eczema. It’d be the easiest thing in the world to introduce the poison into his medication. Two hours later, he comes up to London, the poison takes effect paralyses the muscles and he drowns.” Sherlock further explained.  
“How come the autopsy didn’t pick that up?” Lestrade asked.  
“It’s virtually undetectable. I’m sure no one would have been looking for it. It would have only taken about 75 nanograms to do it. One kg would be enough to kill the entire human population.” You answered.  
Sherlock began typing furiously into his computer and you saw it was on his blog. Smart. This whole case was centered around him. The perp probably had text alerts for his blog.  
“FOUND. Pair of trainers belonging to Carl Powers (1978-1989). Botulinum toxin still present. Apply 221b Baker St.” Sherlock typed.  
“The killer kept the shoes all these years.” Lestrade said.  
“Yes… Meaning?” Sherlock asked.  
“He’s our bomber…” You answered. Suddenly the pink phone rang, again it was a blocked number.  
“Well done, you. Come and get me.” The voice sobbed.  
“Where are you? Tell us where you are.” Sherlock spoke into the phone. The woman answered and Lestrade looked to you, wide eyed.  
“Let’s go!” He said to you. The two of you rushed down to his squad car and sped off to the location. You called for bomb squad once you got in the car.  
“She lives in Cornwall. Two men broke in wearing masks, forced her to drive to the car park and decked her out in enough explosives to take down a house.” You explained to Sherlock once he met up with you guys back in Lestrade’s office at the Yard.  
“She had to read off from this pager.” Lestrade said, placing the pager on the table.  
“If she deviated by one word, the sniper would set her off.” Sherlock observed.  
“Or if you hadn’t solved the case.” You pointed out.  
“Oh… Elegant.” Sherlock said softly.  
“What was the point? Why would anyone do this?” Lestrade asked.  
“No, I can’t be the only person in the world that gets bored.” Sherlock said. Suddenly the pink phone buzzed again, indicating there was a voicemail. He played it and this time there were only four pips.  
“First test passed, it would seem.” Sherlock said. “Here’s the second.” He held up the phone so Lestrade and you could see it. It was of a car, black, sporty.  
“It’s abandoned, wouldn’t you say?” Sherlock observed.  
“Go check if it’s been reported.” Lestrade instructed you, pointing outside to the phone and monitors. You nodded and glanced at the picture one last time, memorizing the make and license number. As you left the room Donovan entered, letting the ‘freak’ know he had a phone call. He stepped out of the room and stood near you, tapping away on the computer, holding the landline against your ear.  
“Who is this? Is this you again?” you heard Sherlock ask. A moment passed before he spoke again.  
“You’ve stolen another voice I presume.”  
“Who are you? What’s that noise?”  
The voice on your end spoke, killing your train of thought. You listened to the words they said, alerting you they found the car.  
“Great.” you spoke, placing the phone back on the receiver.  
“Found it.” you told Lestrade, passing by Sherlock who slowly lowered the phone from his ear. He turned to follow you and Lestrade out the door.


	21. Chapter 21

By the time you arrived at the scene Anderson and his team were already examining the car. The area was taped off by the river with disheveled apartments.  
“The car was hired yesterday morning by an Ian Monkford. Banker, city boy and he paid in cash. He told his wife he was going on a business trip and never arrived.” You told Lestrade and Sherlock, passing him the file. You stalked off to get a good look at the car when Donovan approached you.  
“You’re still hanging around him? Opposites attract, I suppose.” She said rudely.  
“We’re not together Sally.” You retorted.  
“You should get yourself a hobby so you’re not hanging around him all the time outside of work. Stamps, maybe. Model trains, safer.” She suggested.  
“Thanks but I think I’ll pass.” You said, walking away to look at the car.  
There was blood spewn all over the console.  
“Does DNA check out?” You asked Anderson, who looked displeased to see Sherlock here.  
“Yes, it’s Ian Monkfords.” He answered, You bent down into the car to open the glove compartment, when you glanced up to the mirror you could see Anderson looking at your ass. You rolled your eyes. You picked a business card out of the car and handed it to Sherlock as he asked Lestrade a question.  
“No body?” He said.  
“Not yet.” Sally answered.  
“Get a sample sent to the lab.” Sherlock instructed and Sally rolled her eyes. What Sherlock did next really surprised you. He stalked off and approached a woman who could only be Ian Monkfords’ wife. Sally and Lestrade had already questioned the woman so you followed Sherlock to gain your own opinion of her.  
“Mrs.Monkford?” Sherlock said, in a somber tone.  
“Yes,” she looked up to Sherlock and sighed, “Sorry, but I’ve already spoken with two policemen.”  
“Sherlock Holmes. Very old friend of your husband’s. We grew up together.” Sherlock said, shaking the woman’s hand. You looked up to him and swore you saw a tear slide down his cheek.  
“I’m sorry. Who? I don’t think he ever mentioned you.” The wife said.  
“Oh, he must have done. This is… This is horrible. I mean, I just can’t believe it. I only saw him the other day. Same old Ian. Not a care in the world.” Sherlock was really playing this one up. He was literally in tears and you couldn’t believe it.  
“Sorry… My husband has been depressed for months.” The wife said, not believing Sherlock. Sherlock kept the surprised teary look on his face as he look to me at his side.  
“Who are you?” The life asked him again.  
“Pretty strange that he hired a car Why would he do that? It’s a bit suspicious, isn’t it?” Sherlock said, his voice trembling. You noticed his eyes were so bright and a tear slipped out of them, gliding down his cheek.  
“No, it isn’t. He forgot to renew the tax on the car, that’s all.” She said, defending her husband.  
“Ah, well! That was Ian. That was Ian all over.” Sherlock smiled, his face still wet with fake tears.  
“No, it wasn’t.” The wife argued.  
“Wasn’t it. Interesting.” Sherlock said now in his normal husky voice, his cold demeanor was now back. He turned suddenly and walked away from the wife.  
Once you were far enough away from the wife you turned to Sherlock and wiped the fake tears off his face. He looked surprised at your actions.  
“Are you high? Because that was crazy.” You said. He didn’t answer your question.  
“Ok, I guess I don’t want to know. Anyway, you referred to her husband in the past tense. She joined it. It’s a bit premature, I mean we’ve only just found the car.” You rambled, but in the back of your mind you wanted Sherlock to answer your question. You wanted to know that he wasn’t using.  
“That’s not a mistake a murderer would make.” He continued. You walked back closer to where Lestrade and Donovan were.  
“Maybe scrapbooking.” Donovan added, although it didn’t tickle your fancy it was a step up from model trains.  
“I’ll keep that in mind Sally.” you said facetiously. You turned to Lestrade and nodded towards Sherlock who was walking away from the crime.  
Lestrade nodded, silently telling me to go with him. It was an unspoken truth now that you were Sherlock’s handler. You rejoined Sherlock just as he said the name “Janus Cars”. It was the rental car company on the business card you had handed him from the glove compartment.  
As you arrived at Janus Cars you glanced at your watch. There were 6 hours left.  
“Can’t see how I can help you.” The owner said as we were shown into his office.  
“Mr. Monkford hired the car from you yesterday.” You confirmed.  
“Yeah, lovely motor. Mazda Rx8. Wouldn’t mind one of them myself.” He said.  
“Is that one?” Sherlock said pointing to a picture on the wall behind the owner. It was obvious Sherlock was trying to look at something without the owner knowing.  
“Those are all Jags, honey.” You said to Sherlock, before the owner had a chance.  
“You know your cars.” The owner said, impressed.  
“I can see you’re not a car man, eh?” He said to Sherlock.  
“But surely you can afford one. A Mazda, I mean.” Sherlock pointed out.  
“Yeah, that’s a fair point. You know how it is. It’s like working in a sweetshop. Once you start picking at the licorice Allsorts, when does it all stop?” He said, scratching his arm.  
“But you didn’t know Mr. Monkford.” You said, changing the subject.  
“No, he was just a client. What do you think of this one? I’ve been thinking about getting one.” He said, also changing the subject and sliding a picture of a car over to you.  
“Is this the new Porsche 718 Cayman. Beautiful car, though I prefer the Boxster myself.” You played along. He smirked and you could tell he was flirting with out, and he was impressed.  
“Nice holiday Mr. Ewart?” Sherlock asked, a hint of jealousy in his voice.  
“Eh?” He asked.  
“You’ve been away, haven’t you?” Sherlock pushed.  
“Oh, the… No, it’s the sun beds, I’m afraid. Too busy to get away. My wife would love it though, bit of sun.” He stammered, he lied worse than John.  
“Have you got any change for the cigarette machine. I’m gasping.” Sherlock said and you raised an eyebrow to him. Mr. Ewart opened his wallet and Sherlock looked inside questioningly.  
“No, sorry.” He said.  
“Oh, well! Thank you very much for your time, Mr. Ewart. You’ve been very helpful. Come on, Y/N.” Sherlock said, dashing out the door. You smiled to Mr. Ewart to followed Sherlock.  
“What was so interesting inside his wallet?” You asked, once safely outside his office.  
“Mr. Ewart’s a liar.” He smirked, not answering your question. You rolled your eyes and followed him.  
In the cab Lestrade called you alerting you that the blood Sherlock had requested was sent to the lab. You thanked him and told him you would meet him back at the station after stopping off at the lab.  
“Saint Barts Hospital, please.” You told the cabby.  
At the lab Sherlock ran a few tests on the blood. In the middle of one, the pink phone rang again. He answered it carefully.  
“Why would you be giving me a clue?” Sherlock said into the phone.  
“Then talk to me in your own voice.” Sherlock then said, and you were curious as to what was being said on the other side. Sherlock hadn’t said a word since the phone call, even in the cab ride to the Yard. Now there were only three hours left.  
The car had been brought in as evidence into the lower level of the Yard. It was surrounded by plastic walls, that’s where we met Lestrade.  
“How much blood would you say there was?” Sherlock asked Lestrade.  
“How much? About a pint.” He answered.  
“Not about. Exactly a pint. That was their first mistake. The blood’s definitely Ian Monkfords’ but it’s been frozen. There are clear signs.” Sherlock said.  
“So Ian Monkford gave a pint of his blood some time ago and that’s what they spread on the seats.” You followed.  
“Who did?” Lestrade asked.  
“Janus Cars.” Sherlock answered. “The clue is in the name.”  
“The god with two faces.” You nodded.  
“Exactly. They provide a very special service. If you’ve got any kind of a problem, money troubles, bad marriage, whatever, Janus Cars will help you disappear. Ian Monkford was up to his eyes in some sort of trouble. Financial at a guess. He’s a banker. Couldn’t see a way out. But if he were to vanish, if the car he hired was found abandoned with his blood all over the driver’s seat…” Sherlock rambled.  
“So where is he?” Lestrade asked.  
“Colombia.” Sherlock said, closing the door to the Mazda Rx-8. “Mr. Ewart of Janus Cars had a 20,000 Colombian peso note in his wallet. Quite a bit of change too. He told us he hadn’t been abroad recently, but when I asked him about the cars, I could see his tan line clearly. No one wears a shirt on a tan bed. That, plus his arm.” Sherlock said.  
“His arm?” Lestrade asked.  
“He kept scratching it. It was irritating him, and bleeding. He’d probably just had a booster shot.” You added.  
“Conclusion. He’d probably just come back from settling Ian Monkford into his new life in Colombia. Mrs. Monkford cashes in the life insurance and she splits it with Janus Cars.” Sherlock said.  
“The wife?” Lestrade asked.  
“Oh yes, she’s in on it too. Now go and arrest them, Inspector, that’s what you do best. He need to let our friendly bombed know that the case is solved.” Sherlock said. You looked to Lestrade questioningly and he nodded for you to go with Sherlock, he clearly worked better with you there. Sherlock began to walk away and you followed him.  
“I am on fire!” Sherlock shouted, clearly enjoying this way too much.  
Once you got back to Baker St. Sherlock posted another post on his blog.  
“Congratulations to Ian Monkford on his relocation to Colombia.” the post read, immediately as he hit post the pink phone rang. He put it on speaker.  
“He says… You can come and fetch me. Help! Help me, please!” As soon as he told you where he was you called Lestrade to let him know. Thank God this bomb didn’t go off like the first one. This poor man was standing in the middle of what you like to call British Times Square. The Sanyo sign and monitors at Piccadilly Circus always reminded you of Manhattan.


	22. Chapter 22

Sherlock didn’t receive a text after he solved this one. No pips. Now we just had to wait. You decided to go home take a shower, and change. Once you got out Sherlock texted you that he and John were going to grab some lunch and he wanted you to come as well. You were a bit hungry, so you texted him back that you would meet him there.   
After a short cab ride you found the cafe Sherlock and John were at. You quickly texted Lestrade that we were still waiting to hear from the bomber again, but you would let him know when you did.  
You sat down next to Sherlock, he had taken the liberty of ordering you something he knew you would like. You smiled as the food arrived when you sat down.  
“I sounds like you have hardly stopped for breath since this thing started.” John said, clearly Sherlock had filled him in on the things he had missed. You nodded politely and smiled.  
“Has it occurred to you…” John began before Sherlock cut him off.  
“Probably.” Sherlock said. John rolled his eyes and continued.  
“No, has it occurred to you that the bomber’s playing a game with you? The envelope, breaking into the other flat, the dead kid’s shoes, it’s all meant for you.” John said.  
“Yes, I know.” Sherlock said.  
“Is it him, then? Moriarty?” John asked.  
“Perhaps.” Sherlock answered when the pink phone buzzed.  
This time three pips and a photo of Connie Prince. She was like the British Oprah or Ellen, but with fashion.  
“That could be anybody.” Sherlock said, confused.  
“Could be, yeah. Lucky for you I’ve been more than a little unemployed.” John said.  
You sent a text to Lestrade.  
Three pips and a picture of Connie Prince.  
Y/I G  
“What do you mean?” Sherlock asked.  
“Lucky for you, Mrs. Hudson and I watch far too much telly.” John said, getting out of his chair to change the telly in the cafe. He changed it to the news where they were showing clips of Connie’s show and announcing her death. Immediately as the channel clicked over to her the pink phone rang and you turned to Sherlock as he answered it.  
“Hello.” He said, listening intently.  
“Why are you doing this?” He asked. Then putting down the phone, clearly not happy with the answer he received.  
Your own phone buzzed, it was a text from Greg.  
Meet you at the morgue.  
GL  
You looked up to Sherlock, who was already almost out the door.  
The three of you met Lestrade at the morgue where Molly Hooper had laid her body out for us. He was reading from her file.  
“Connie Prince, 54. She had one of those makeover shows on the telly. Did you see it?” Lestrade asked.  
“No.” Sherlock answered, carefully beginning to examine the body.  
“Very popular. She was going places.” Lestrade said.  
“Not any more.” Sherlock retorted.  
“Dead two days. According to one of her staff, Raoul de Santos, she cut her hand on a rusty nail in the garden.” You informed them.  
“Nasty wound. Tetanus bacteria enters the bloodstream… Goodnight, Vienna.” Sherlock continued.  
“I suppose.” John said, you were glad he was here, after all he was a doctor.  
“Something’s wrong with this picture.” Sherlock said.  
“Eh?” Lestrade asked.  
“Can’t be as simple as it seems otherwise the bomber wouldn’t be directing us towards it. Something’s wrong.” Sherlock repeated. Sherlock began looking at her forehead where you noticed multiple Botox injection spots.  
“John?” You asked.  
“Hmm?” He answered.  
“This is pretty deep. It would have bled a lot right?” You asked him.  
“Yeah.” He answered.  
“But the wound’s clean, very clean and fresh.” You pointed out. “How long would the bacteria have been incubating inside her?” Sherlock looked up to you and followed your train of thought.  
“Oh, eight, ten days.” He answered, and you saw Sherlock smirk. You nodded.  
“The cut was made later.” John followed.  
“After she was dead?” Lestrade asked.  
“Must have been.” Sherlock said, joining in. “The only question is how did the tetanus enter the dead woman’s system.”  
“You want to help, right?” Sherlock asked John.  
“Of course.” He answered.  
“Connie Prince’s background, family history, everything. Get me data.” Sherlock told him. You noticed Sherlock stole another glance towards the Botox marks.  
“Right.” John said, leaving the room.  
“There’s something else that we haven’t thought of.” Lestrade said.  
“Is there?” Sherlock asked.  
“Yes. Why is he doing this, the bomber? If this woman’s death was suspicious, why point it up?” Lestrade asked.  
“Good Samaritan.” Sherlock said, turning to leave.  
“Who press-gangs suicide bombers?” Lestrade retorted.  
“Bad Samaritan.” Sherlock corrected himself.  
“I’m serious Sherlock. Listen, I’m cutting you slack here, I’m trusting you, but out there somewhere some poor bastard’s covered in Semtex and just waiting for you to solve the puzzle. So just tell me, what are we dealing with?” Lestrade asked, seriously. He had a point too.  
“Something new.” Sherlock smirked and turned to walk out the door.  
Lestrade joined you and Sherlock back at Baker St. where John had gathered some info for Sherlock and he had hung it above the couch.  
“Connection, connection, connection. There must be a connection.” Sherlock muttered to himself, pacing in front of the couch.  
“Carl Powers killed 20 years ago. The bomber knew him, admitted that he knew him. The bomber’s iPhone was in the stationery from the Czech Republic. The first hostage from Cornwall, the second from London, the third from Yorkshire, judging by her accent. What’s he doing? Working his way around the world, showing off?” Sherlock said angrily. Then the pink phone rang again. He put it on speaker this time and the voice of a frail old woman came out.  
“You’re enjoying this aren’t you? Joining the dots. Three hours. Boom. Boom.” The call disconnected.  
Something was still wrong, Sherlock had sent John out to Connie’s house. Sherlock likes to do everything himself. There was no way he would leave it up to John to solve… He was sending John on a wild goose chase. Meantime Sherlock was at home worrying about the connections between all the cases instead of solving this one… Unless, he had already solved it and instead of letting the bomber know, he was using this extra time to get ahead of him.  
Mrs. Hudson entered the room and was looking at the pictures on the wall. Sherlock was on the phone.  
“It’s a real shame, I liked her.” Mrs. Hudson began. “She taught you how to do your colours.”  
“Colours?” Lestrade asked.  
“You know, what goes best with what. I should never wear cerise, apparently. Drains me.” She answered. Sherlock ended his phone call and rejoined us in front of the couch.  
“Who was that?” Lestrade asked.  
“Home office.” He answered coolly.  
“Home office?” Lestrade asked confused.  
“Well, home secretary actually. Owes me a favour.” Sherlock said, stuffing his phone into his breast pocket.  
“She’s a pretty girl, but she messed about with herself too much. They all do these days, people can hardly move their faces. It’s silly isn’t it.” Mrs. Hudson rambled, laughing. Lestrade smiled back politely.  
“Did you ever see her show?” Mrs. Hudson asked Sherlock.  
“Not until now.” Sherlock replied, pulling out his laptop and playing a clip.  
“That’s her brother, now love loss there if you can believe the papers.” Mrs. Hudson explained.  
“So I gather. I’ve just been having a very fruitful chat with people who love this show. Fan sites are indispensable for gossip.” Sherlock replied.  
“Can I talk to you alone for a moment?” You asked Sherlock. He nodded and lead you to his bedroom and closed the door.  
“What are you doing?” You asked him. He looked to you confused.  
“Just closing the door, thought you might want some privacy.” He said.  
“No, with John. You’re having him run about, trying to solve this case. You like to do everything yourself, you wouldn’t leave something this important up to John to solve.” You told him.  
“So?” Sherlock asked, wanting you to continue.  
“So, I saw the way you were looking at her face in the morgue. You’ve already solved this case. Why have John running all over town?” You asked.  
“I needed to bomber to think we haven’t solved it. That we were still investigating.” He answered.  
“So you have solved it then?” You confirmed.  
“Of course.” He said.  
“The Botox injections. The man that found her, Raoul de Santos, was the brother’s lover. Also the one who would have given Connie her Botox injections.” You answered. He smirked proudly, examining your face. You smiled up at him.  
You were interrupted by Sherlock’s phone ringing. It was John summoning Sherlock off to Connie’s house to see the brother, he thinks he’s solved it.  
You followed Sherlock out of the bedroom and back into the living room where he quickly ran out the door to meet John.  
“What was that about?” Lestrade asked, pointing to Sherlock running out the door.  
“You two get into a bit of a domestic?” Mrs. Hudson asked kindly.  
“John called, he thinks he’s solved it but Sherlock had him running about so the bomber would think we were still working on the case.” You explained.  
“But we are still working on the case.” Lestrade said.  
“Sherlock’s had this one solved for a while, he’s been using the extra time to try and get ahead of the bomber.” You explained.  
“Then how was it done?” Lestrade asked, you turned and sat down in Sherlock’s chair.  
“The houseboy, Raoul did it for revenge. He was having an affair with the brother Kenny Prince who was the butt of his sister’s jokes week in, week out. A virtual bullying campaign. Finally he had enough, fell out with her badly. It’s all on the website.” You said, pointing to Sherlock’s laptop. “She threatened to disinherit Kenny, Raoul had grown accustomed to a certain lifestyle. A second autopsy showed that it wasn’t tetanus that killed her but botulinum toxin. Botox is a diluted form of botulinum. Among other things, Raoul de Santos was employed to give Connie her regular facial injections. Sherlock’s contact at the home office discovered that he’s been bulk-ordering Botox for months. Bided his time, then upped the strength to a fatal dose.”  
“We better get back to the office, text Sherlock to meet us there.” Lestrade instructed you. You nodded.  
When Sherlock and John meet us at the office you could tell Sherlock had just explained everything to John because he didn’t look too happy.  
“How long have you known?” John asked Sherlock angrily.  
“Well, this one was quite simple actually. Like I said, the bomber repeated himself. That was a mistake.” Sherlock answered.  
“Yeah, but Sherlock, the hostage, the old woman, she’s been there all this time!” John yelled back.  
“I knew I could save her. I also knew that the bomber had given us 12 hours. I solved the case quickly, that gave me time to get on with other things. Don’t you see? We’re one up on him.” Sherlock whispered.  
Sherlock logged into his blog in Lestrade’s office and made a new post.  
“Raoul de Santos, the house-boy, botox.” It read. Immediately the mobile rang. He answered it carefully.  
“Hello?”  
“Tell us where you are. Address.” Sherlock insisted.  
“No, no, no, no. Tell me nothing about him, nothing.” Suddenly Sherlock’s eyes opened wide.  
“What happened?” you asked Sherlock, concern evident all over your face. He continued to stare straight ahead.  
“Sherlock…” you said, placing a hand on his shoulder. He lowered the phone slowly, a almost disappointed look on his face. You knew what happened.  
Sherlock and John left, leaving you and Lestrade in the office. After a couple minutes of silence you flipped on the television. It was already on the news that an explosion caused by a faulty gas main had killed 12 people, destroying a whole block of flats.  
“I don’t understand, he solved the case.” Lestrade said, confused.  
“You heard Sherlock, he said tell me nothing about him. Maybe she started to describe him, the bomber. Usually the bomber has the hostages read off from pagers. But Sherlock told me this one was blind, so she must have had an ear piece, he must have been speaking directly to her. He put himself in the firing line. Usually the bomber manages to stay above it all, he organizes these things, but she was the first one to have direct contact.” You explained.  
“So, he arranged the Connie Prince murder? So people come to him, wanting their crimes fixed up like booking a holiday?” Lestrade asked.  
“Hmm.” you murmured, thinking.  
“So why is he playing this game with Sherlock, does he want to be caught?” Lestrade asked again.  
“Sherlock told me once, on our first case, he said the brilliant ones are always so desperate to get caught. For appreciation, applause. He said, ‘That’s the frailty of genius, it needs an audience’.”


	23. Chapter 23

After a little while your phone rang. You noticed it was Sherlock calling, which was strange because he usually prefers to text. You answered it and Sherlock immediately began talking.  
“It’s me. Have you found anything on the South Bank between Waterloo Bridge and Southwark Bridge?” He spoke fast.  
“Um, let me check.” I said, before asking Lestrade the same question. He flipped through some papers before answering.  
“A body’s just washed up.” He said. Grabbing his things to leave, you followed. Sherlock must have heard Lestrade because he hung up.  
Once you arrived to where the body was, Sherlock and John showed up no more than five minutes after.  
“Do you reckon this is connected then, the bomber?” Lestrade asked Sherlock.  
“Must be, odd though, he hasn’t been in touch.” Sherlock answered.  
“Then we must assume that some poor bugger’s primed to explode, yeah?” Lestrade asked again.  
“Yes.” Sherlock said.  
“Any ideas?” Lestrade asked.  
“Seven, so far.” Sherlock smirked, bending down to examine the body.  
“Seven?” Lestrade said, amazed. Sherlock finished looking around, stood back up and pulled out his phone. John then bent down to look at the body as well.  
“He’s dead about 24 hours. Maybe a bit longer. Did he drown?” He asked.  
“Asphyxiated.” You said.  
“There’s quite a bit of bruising around the nose and mouth. More bruises here and here.” He pointed.  
“Fingertips.” Sherlock suddenly said.  
“I’d say mid thirties, and he’s not in the best condition.” John continued.  
“He’s been in the river a long while. The water’s destroyed most of the data.” Sherlock spoke. He then suddenly smirked. “But I’ll tell you one thing. That lost Vermeer painting’s a fake.”  
“What?” Lestrade asked, lost.  
“We need to identify the corpse find out about his friends and…” Sherlock said before Lestrade cut him off.  
“Wait, wait, wait, wait. What painting? What are you on about?” Lestrade asked.  
“It’s all over the place, haven’t you seen the posters? Dutch old master, supposed to be destroyed centuries ago. Now it’s turned up, worth £30 million.” Sherlock explained.  
“Okay, so what has that got to do with the stiff?” Lestrade asked.  
“Everything. Have you ever heard of the Golem?” Sherlock asked.  
“The Jewish folk story or the assassin?” You asked.  
“Oscar Dzundza, one of the deadliest assassins in the world. That is his trademark style.” Sherlock said, pointing to the body.  
“So this is a hit.” Lestrade said.  
“Definitely.” Sherlock said.  
“The Golem squeezes the life out of his victims with his bare hands.” You explained.  
“But what has this got to do with that painting?” Lestrade asked, still lost. Sherlock rolled his eyes and looked up to you, asking you to explain. You nodded slightly.  
“The killers only left us with the shirt and pants. Cheap, and too big for him so standard-issue uniform. So he was going to work. There’s a hook on his belt for a walkie-talkie.” You began.  
“Tube driver?” Lestrade asked.  
“More likely a security guard.” Sherlock said, urging you to continue.  
“You’d think he led a sedentary life but his feet and legs show otherwise. So a lot of walking and a lot of sitting around. Security guards looking good. His watch showed he did regular night shifts, the buttons are stiff so he set it a long time ago and his routine never varied. There was some sort of badge or logo ripped off the of the shirt front, so it must have been something recognizable. Wad of ticket stubs in his pocket so probably a museum gallery.” You said.  
“I did a quick check, the Hickman gallery has reported one of its attendants is missing. Alex Woodbridge. Tonight, they unveil the rediscovered masterpiece. Now, why would anyone want to pay the Golem to suffocate a perfectly ordinary gallery attendant? Inference, the dead man knew something about it, something that would stop the owner getting paid £30 million. The pictures are fake.” Sherlock said, wrapping it up.  
“I better get my feelers out for this Golem character.” Lestrade stated.  
“Pointless, you’ll never find him, but I know a man who can.” Sherlock returned.  
“Who?” Lestrade asked.  
“Me.” Sherlock smirked. You shook your head smiling. Lestrade went back to the office, and as you were apparently Sherlock’s handler you got in a cab with him and John.  
“Why hasn’t he phoned? He’s broken his pattern. Why?” Sherlock said, talking to himself. The question was simple enough but the answer was complex. The numerous possibilities each frightened you. The bomber wasn’t just sitting and watching us now, he was planning something. His end game. He’s clearly not afraid to rack up a boy count. He also isn’t going to allow himself to be caught by authorities, this was about him and Sherlock. They had to share some sort of connection. Every single case so far had been about him. Car Powers was his first case, the shoes were found in his bloody flat. The rest of the cases were tests, trying to find out just what makes him tick.  
“The Hickman is contemporary art. Why have they got hold of an old master?” John asked, breaking your trance.  
“Don’t know. It’s dangerous to jump to conclusions. Need data.” Sherlock said, jotting something down in his notebook and ripping out the page. He then pulled out 50 pounds and wrapped it around the note. He suddenly yelled at the cabby to stop and asked him to wait. Sherlock jumped out of the cab and gave the money to a homeless person. Must have been someone in his homeless network.  
When we arrived outside of the gallery Sherlock stepped out of the cab, he helped you out and then stopped John before he could exit.  
“No, I need you to find out all you can about the gallery attendant. Lestrade will give you the address.” Sherlock said.  
“Okay.” John said annoyed.  
“You know Mycroft is going to get upset the longer you wait to solve his case. If I keep ignoring his texts he’s just going to trick John into looking into it.” You told Sherlock as you were walking to the gallery together.  
Once inside, you went to talk to some of the other security guards to see if Alex Woodbridge had told them anything about the painting. Sherlock on the other hand grabbed a hat and jacket out of the security office and slipped off his long coat. He handed it to you and you folded it over your arm, parting ways. You wondered what he had planned, but he walked off before you could ask.  
After about twenty minutes you met Sherlock back outside of the gallery. He stalked towards you in just his suit, it was odd seeing him without his large coat. It was as if that coat protected him, not just from the cold but from reality. The coat was his security blanket in a way, it made him safe, comfortable, and at home. You stuck it out to him as he approached, he smiled and took it from your hands. He slipped it on and flipped up the collar as usual. The two of you began the 30 minute walk back to Baker Street. As you were nearing the door you noticed the same homeless woman from earlier leaning against the fence.  
“Any spare change?” She asked repeatedly.  
John’s cab pulled up and he informed us that Alex Woodbridge knew nothing about art, but he was an amateur astronomer. Sherlock told him to hold the cab as he approached the homeless woman.  
“Spare change, sir?” She asked.  
“Don’t mind if I do.” He said, receiving a slip of paper from the woman.  
“Vauxhall Arches.” Was all it said. The three of you hopped back in the cab. You checked your phone and ignored three more texts from Mycroft. You texted Lestrade quickly that there was still no word from the bomber.  
The cab ride was surprisingly silent. By the time you got there it was about 10 o’clock at night. You could see the stars overhead.  
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Sherlock said, when he noticed where you were looking.  
“I thought you didn’t care about…” John began before Sherlock cut him off.  
“Doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate it.” Sherlock said. You hopped the two of them wouldn’t get back into the ‘earth goes round the sun’ fight again.  
“Listen, Alex Woodbridge had a message on the answerphone at his flat. A Professor Cairns.” John began. The three of you continued into the arches, they were covered in filth. The only people who come down here were homeless people trying to sleep out of the rain.  
“Nice. Nice part of town.” John said, looking around. You took a step closer to Sherlock, nervous of what might pop out of the shadows. You pulled your coat closer around your body.  
“Uh, any time you want to explain?” John asked Sherlock.  
“Homeless network. Really is indispensable.” Sherlock stated.  
“Homeless network?” John asked, confused.  
“My eyes and ears all over the city.” Sherlock explained.  
“Ah, that’s… clever. So you scratch their backs, and…” John said, looking around.  
“Yes, and I disinfect myself.” Sherlock said with a smile.  
You moved deeper into the tunnels, the only light now was coming from your flash lights. You noticed homeless people curled up against the walls and surrounded by piles of belongings. You turned around as you noticed Sherlock staring at a large shadow emerging down the tunnel, he quickly pulled you behind a wall, out of view of who you assumed was the assassin you were looking for.  
“What’s he doing sleeping rough?” John whispered.  
“Well he has a very distinctive look. He has to hide somewhere where tongues won’t wag… Much.” Sherlock whispered back. You pulled out your gun as Sherlock pulled one out of his coat and handed it to John just as he was about to say he’d wish he’d brought his gun.  
Oscar Dzundza began to run down the tunnel, we turned on our heels and chased him. He jumped into a car at the clearing and ran off. Where ever he was heading, he seemed to be in a hurry.  
“No! No! No! It’ll take us weeks to find him again!” Sherlock shouted angrily.  
“Or not. I have an idea where he might be going.” John said.  
“What?” Sherlock asked him, surprised.  
“I told you. Someone left Alex Woodbridge a message. There can’t be that many Professor Cairns in the book. Come on.” John said, we followed him. He was right, there was only one, she worked as an astrology professor at Roland Kerr Further Education College. We hurried there and once we arrived we saw the car that Oscar Dzundza sped off in parked behind the Astrology Auditorium. We rushed into the building before it was too late.  
You ran into the room, gun at the ready.  
“Golem!” Sherlock shouted as you saw the tall man squeezing the life out of the woman that had to be Professor Cairns. You heard her neck snap and the lights cut out of the room as her hand slipped down the control board.  
“Pro koho pracuješ pro tuto dobu, Dzundza?” You yelled in his native language. Who are you working for this time, Dzundza? The lights acted almost in strobes. One moment they flashed on, the next was complete darkness. In the momentary lightness, you saw him perk up at the sound of his native language, Czech. The lights cut out for what seemed like minutes this time, and when they came back on you noticed him standing behind Sherlock. In a moments notice he had his hands over his face, restricting his breathing. You cocked your gun up and pressed the cold metal against his head.  
“Já bych ho nechal jít, kdybych byl tebou.” You muttered fiercely. I’d let him go if I were you. He removed his hands from Sherlock, who let in a sharp breath. Dzundza towered over you as the lights cut out again, before you knew it he had thrown your body into the first row of seats. You landed with a thump and let out a groan. You stood up as fast as your body would allow and searched for your gun. When you found it and turned around, Sherlock was on the ground. The Golem was above him with his hands over his face again, but John was on his back, trying to pull the Golem off Sherlock.  
You tried to stand but couldn’t. When the lights cut back in you saw the Golem throw John off his back and began to run out the door. You fired three shots at him, one seemed to clip his arm, but he continued running.  
By now it had to be nearly morning but you had to get back to the museum before the painting premiered.


	24. Chapter 24

“It’s a fake. It has to be.” Sherlock said, standing in front of the painting, surrounded by Lestrade, John, the gallery owner Mrs. Wenceslas, and yourself.  
“That painting has been subjected to every test known to science.” She argued.  
“It’s a very good fake then. You know about this, don’t you? This is you, isn’t it?” Sherlock retorted, turning to face the owner. She rolled her eyes and turned to Lestrade.  
“Inspector, my time is being wasted.” She said, neither confirming or denying Sherlock’s statement. The pink phone rang suddenly.  
“The painting is a fake.” Sherlock said into the phone, no voice followed.  
“It’s a fake, that’s why Woodbridge and Cairns were killed.” Sherlock spoke again. Still no answer.  
“Oh, come on, proving it’s just a detail. The painting is a fake. I’ve solved it, I’ve figured it out. It’s a fake, that’s the answer, that’s why they were killed. Okay, I’ll prove it. Give me time. Will you give me time?” Sherlock asked.  
“Ten.” A chilling voice came from the phone that gave you goose bumps. It was the voice of a small child.  
“It’s a kid. Oh, God, it’s a kid.” You muttered to Lestrade.  
“Nine.”  
“It’s a countdown. He’s giving me time.” Sherlock said, bending down to look at the painting. He was muttering to himself as his eyes scanned the painting.  
“Eight.”  
You placed your hand over your mouth in shock. If Sherlock didn’t prove it in the next 7 seconds this kid was going to be killed, along with anyone in a one block radius of him.  
“Seven, Six, Five.” The boy said, speeding up.  
“Oh, at the Planetarium, you heard it too.” Sherlock said, his mouth forming an ‘O’.  
“Four.”  
“Oh, that’s brilliant, I love this.” Sherlock said, stepping back and typing something into his phone.  
“Three, Two.”  
“The VanBuren Supernova.” Sherlock said into the phone.  
“Please, is somebody there? Somebody help me.” The kid spoke, and the countdown stopped. You let out the breath that you didn’t realize you were holding in.  
“Go find him and pick him up.” Sherlock said, handing the pink phone to Lestrade.  
“VanBuren Supernova, so-called. Exploding star. Only appeared in the sky in 1858.” Sherlock said pointing to the painting, cockily. He then stalked off to follow Greg.  
“So how could it have been painted in the 1640s” John smiled, looking at the painting, relieved that Sherlock had solved it.  
After Lestrade picked up the boy you took the gallery owner down to the station. Lestrade met you there and Sherlock joined along.  
“You know, it’s interesting. Bohemian stationery, an assassin named after a Praque legend, and you Miss Wenceslas. This whole case has a distinctly Czech feeling about it. Is that where this leads? What are we looking at, Sergeant?” Sherlock asked you.  
“Criminal conspiracy, fraud, accessory after the fact, at the very least. The murder of the old woman, all of the people in the flat.” You spoke confidently.  
“I didn’t know anything about that. All those things, please, believe me. I just wanted my share. The 30 million.” She pleaded as Lestrade entered the room and sat down next to you. Miss Wenceslas sighed before she began to speak again.  
“I found a little old man in Argentina. A genius… I mean, really. Brushwork, immaculate. Could fool anyone.” She said.  
“Mmm.” Sherlock muttered, raising his eyebrows.  
“Well, nearly anyone.” She said looking over to Sherlock. “But I didn’t know how to go about convincing the world the picture was genuine. It was just an idea. A spark which he blew into a flame.”  
“Kdo?” You asked her. Who?  
“Nevím…” She said. I don’t know… You scoffed.  
“It’s true. It took a long time, but eventually I was put in touch with people. His people. Well, there was never any real contact. Just messages… whispers.” She said.  
“A to ti šeptá nějaké jméno?” You asked. And did those whispers have a name? She nodded for a moment, almost afraid to let the name slip.  
“Moriarty.” She spoke, and a hush fell over the whole room. You looked to Sherlock and his eyes widened.  
After writing up the paperwork for Miss Wenceslas’ indictment, you and Sherlock left in a cab. You knew John had gone off on Mycroft’s case so the two of you were going to surprise him.  
“I didn’t know you spoke Czech.” Sherlock said, as he sat back in the cab.  
“I told you there were a lot of things you didn’t know about me.” You replied.  
“What other languages do you speak that I don’t know about?” He asked with a smirk.  
“Vous allez devoir attendre pour le découvrir..” I spoke with a smirk. You’re just going to have to wait and find out.  
“Ooh, French. There’s another one.” He said, impressed. The cab stopped and you realized you were at some sort of train service station. A bunch of tracks converge around here. You saw John crouched down, examining some of the lines. You and Sherlock quietly snuck up behind him.  
“The points.” Sherlock said.  
“Yes!” John said, turning around, caught off guard.  
“I knew you’d get there eventually. West wasn’t killed here, that’s why there was so little blood.” Sherlock spoke.  
“How long have you been following me?” John asked.  
“Since the start.” Sherlock said, confirming your suspicion that he wouldn’t pass up on an interesting case just on account of Mycroft.  
“Come on, we’ve got a bit of burglary to do.” Sherlock said walking off, you and John in tow. You travelled a few minutes outside of the city to a flat.  
“Missile plans haven’t left the country otherwise Mycroft’s people would have heard about it. Despite what people think, we do still have a secret service.” Sherlock said as we approached the flat.  
“So whoever stole the memory stick can’t sell it or doesn’t know what to do with it.” You said.  
“My money’s on the latter.” Sherlock said, turning up the stairs to a fair sized apartment. There were garbage bags outside, cluttering the porch. Sherlock picked the lock and pushed the door open hard with his shoulder.  
“Jesus.” John muttered, clearly not okay with breaking in.  
“Where are we?” You asked Sherlock.  
“Oh, sorry, didn’t I say? Joe Harrison’s flat. Brother of West’s fiancee. He stole the memory stick, killed his prospective brother-in-law.” Sherlock said, looking out the window. Conveniently, behind his flat was a train line. On the window sill was blood, which had to belong to Andrew West.  
“Then why’d he do it?” John asked. Suddenly you could hear keys in the door.  
“Let’s ask him.” You said, pulling out your gun.  
You walked slowly into the hallway until you could see Joe Harrison with his bike. He saw you and raised his bike, possible preparing to throw it at you. You raised your gun to him and he lowered it, defeated.  
He continued to explain to us that him killing West was an accident. He explained how he started dealing drugs, that the bike messenger was a good cover. He got in too deep, owed a lot of people a lot of money. At West’s engagement party he was drunk and started talking about his job. He said West told him about the missile plans, beyond top secret, he even showed him the memory stick. Harrison thought it could be worth a fortune. West came to his flat because he knew Joe had stolen it. They got in a fight on the porch and he accidently pushed him down the long flight of concrete steps. He brought him back inside and heard the train stop outside of his window. He dragged his body out the window and onto the top of the train, taking him far away from here. He would have gone on for ages if it weren’t for the points, the train changes tracks and West’s body shifted off the top and fell to the ground.  
Joe Harrison left the room to fetch the memory stick.  
“Distractions over, the game continues.” Sherlock said.  
“Maybe that’s over too. We haven’t heard anything from the bomber.” John whispered.  
“There were five pips, we’ve only had four.” You reminded him.  
Sherlock obtained the memory stick and left to give it to Mycroft as you and John shared a cab home. Considering you had to be at the office early in the morning to work out Miss Wenceslas’ arrest, you decided to go home and John continued on to Baker Street.  
When you unlocked the door you noticed that you hadn’t seen Mrs. Astor all day. You went to check on her and found her asleep watching telly. You smiled and continued up to your flat. You locked the door and slipped into the shower. You got out and turned on the light. You slipped on a silk robe and stepped out into the kitchen for some tea. You heard a shuffle behind you and before you could turn your head you felt a spark pain in your neck. Someone had jabbed a needle into it. Their arms wrapped around you, holding you as you tried to wiggle free, your vision became increasingly blurry as you descended into unconsciousness.


	25. Chapter 25

You awoke, sitting on cold tile, fully dressed. Whoever had done this had taken the time to dress you in a tight dress and heels. Your hands were tied behind your back. As you looked up there was a man in an expensive suit staring at you with a sinister smile. Your mouth formed an ‘O’ shape as you recognized him. Two large men grabbed you and raised you to your feet. They continued to hold onto your arms so you didn’t try to run, even though you were too weak from the drugs.  
“You’re James…” you said, remembering the day you ran into him on the street. He had been following you, you had spotted him at the restaurant Sherlock had taken you to during the taxi driver case.  
“Jim Moriarty. Pleased to meet you. That dress fits you well, although I regret not being the one who put you in it.” He smirked. You tried to wiggle out of their arms but they were too strong. He laughed when he saw you struggling.  
“Where are we?” You asked.  
“We’re at the pool where poor Carl Powers died. And you’re going to help me.” He said, nodding to one of his men. He let go of you and grabbed something off of a table. You noticed it as soon as he held it up to strap it to you. Explosives. Enough to take down the building. He wrapped it around your waist and you dared not move, afraid to set it off. After it had been strapped to you he moved to cut the ties around your hands. He knew you wouldn’t try to run while he held the detonator. After your hands were freed he placed a large coat on you, similar to the ones Sherlock is always wearing. You looked out the window and all you saw was darkness, it must have been around midnight.  
The second man let go of you and placed a headphone in your ear, wrapping it down the back of your neck.  
“Let’s make sure you’ve got this clear love.” Moriarty said, stepping closer to you. He placed his finger under your chin, raising it until your eyes met. You were the same height in the heels they had put you in.  
“You say what I tell you exactly, or these go off.” He spoke, running his finger down your body near the explosives. You nodded weakly. He looked at his watch.  
“Show time.” He said with a devious smile. His men took you out to the pool where you were to repeat Moriarty’s exact words as they were spoken in your ears. You stood behind a pillar. One of his men stayed behind with you, he was going to signal when you had to walk out.  
You heard the door to the pool open and footsteps on the tile. They walked around for a bit before speaking.  
“Brought you a little getting-to-know-you present. That’s what it’s all been for, isn’t it? All your little puzzles, making me dance. All to distract me from this.” The voice said, your eyes grew wide as you realized who it was. You looked to Moriarty’s men, he gave you the signal to step out. You heels clicked on the tile. Your hands were in the deep pockets of the coat.  
You stepped out next to the pool, turning and facing him. Sherlock Holmes. You kept a straight face, as you were instructed to do. Sherlock lowered his hand which was holding the Bruce-Partington Plans. He turned and looked to you, the level of shock on his face was enormous.  
Evening. Moriarty spoke into your ear.  
“Evening.” You repeated to Sherlock. “This is a turn-up, isn’t it, Sherlock?”  
“Y/N. What the hell?” He asked, confused.  
“Bet you never saw this coming.” You spoke his words. Sherlock stepped towards you slowly. What you saw on his face scared you more than the bombs. Doubt. He doubted you, he thought you were behind all of this.  
Why don’t you open up that little coat of yours, love. Let Sherlock see that pretty body wrapped up in explosives. Moriarty instructed you. You took your hands out of your pockets and opened the coat slightly so Sherlock could see. Moriarty had seemed to pick out your most scandalous and revealing dress. Sherlock’s eyes scanned every part of your body. The doubt on his face was replaced with fear.  
“What would you like me to make her say next?” You spoke his words again.  
“Gottle o’ geer, gottle o’ geer, gottle o’ geer.” You spoke.  
“Stop it.” Sherlock insisted.  
“Nice touch, this. The pool, where little Carl died.” You began, Sherlock continued stepping closer to you. “I stopped him. I could stop Y/N Gregson, too. Stop her heart.” You said. You looked down and say a red dot on your chest. Moriarty’s snipers.  
“Who are you?” Sherlock said, looking around. The opposite pool door opened and Moriarty’s true voice rang out.  
“I gave you my number. Thought you might call.” Moriarty said, approaching you from behind. “Is that a British Army Browning L9A1 in your pocket, or do you like the dress I picked out for our little girl here.”  
“Both.” Sherlock said, pulling the gun out of his pocket and pointing it to Moriarty.  
“Jim Moriarty. Hi. Jim? Jim from the hospital? Oh, did I really make such a fleeting impression? But then, I suppose, that was rather the point.”  
You noticed Sherlock looking at the sniper line on you.  
“Don’t be silly. Someone else is holding the rifle.” Moriarty said, noticing too. “I don’t like getting my hands dirty. I’ve given you a glimpse, Sherlock, just a teensy glimpse of what I’ve got going on out there in the big bad world. I’m a specialist, you see. Like you.”  
“Dear Jim, please will you fix it for me to get rid of my lover’s nasty sister? Dear Jim, please will you fix it for me to disappear to South America?” Sherlock spoke.  
“Just so.” Moriarty replied, you could hear his voice getting closer.  
“Consulting criminal. Brilliant.” Sherlock said, keeping his gun steady on him.  
“Isn’t it? No one ever gets to me, and no one ever will.” He said.  
“I did.” Sherlock said, cocking the gun.  
“You’ve come the closest. Now you’re in my way.” Moriarty said.  
“Thank you.” Sherlock said.  
“Didn’t mean it as a compliment.” Jim said.  
“Yes you did.” Sherlock returned.  
“Yeah, okay, I did. But the flirtings over, Sherlock. Daddy’s had enough now. I’ve shown you what I can do. I cut loose all those people, all those little problems, even 30 million quid just to get you to come out and play. So take this as a friendly warning… my dear. Back off.” Jim spoke. You looked down to the ground, remembering the man you were dealing with was not afraid of racking up a body count. Sherlock stole a quick glance at you and returned his gaze to Moriarty, still holding his gun high.  
“Although I have loved this, this little game of ours. Playing Jim from IT, playing gay. Did you like the little touch with the underwear?” He rambled on, coming closer still.  
“That’s what people do!” He yelled, his voice causing you to tremble slightly.  
“I will stop you.” Sherlock growled back.  
“No, you won’t.” He said, you noticed he was right behind you now.  
“Are you alright?” Sherlock asked you. You were afraid to answer.  
“You can talk, Y/Nickname. Go ahead.” You clenched your jaw at the sound of his voice in your ear, his breath on your neck. You looked up to Sherlock and nodded. He immediately held the flash drive out to Moriarty.  
“Take it.” He instructed.  
“Hmm? Oh… That? The missile plans.” Jim said, stepping in front of you and taking it. He held it in his hand and kissed it. “Boring! I could have got them anywhere.” He said, tossing it into the pool.  
Your body took over, you lunged at him in front of you and wrapped your arms around his neck.  
“Sherlock, run!” You yelled. Moriarty just laughed, even though your grip on his neck was tightening.  
“Good!” Jim yelled. “Very good!”  
“If your sniper pulls that trigger, Jim, then we both go up.” You spoke in his ear.  
“She’s sweet. I can see why you like having her around.” He said calmly to Sherlock. “Then again, people do get so sentimental about their pets. They’re so touchingly loyal. But opps! You’ve rather shown your hand there, Sergeant Gregson.”  
You looked up to see the sniper had moved their line onto Sherlock.  
“Gotcha.” Jim said, as you let go of him, stepping back carefully. He brushed his suit off and said, “Westwood.”  
“Do you know what happens if you don’t leave me alone, Sherlock? Do you?” Jim spoke.  
“Oh, let me guess. I get killed.” Sherlock said as the sniper moved back onto you.  
“Kill you. Mmm, no. Don’t be obvious. I mean, I’m gonna kill you anyway someday. I don’t want to rush it, though. I’m saving it up for something special. No,no,no,no,no. If you don’t stop prying, I’ll burn you. I’ll burn the heart out of you.”  
“I have been reliably informed that I don’t have one.” Sherlock spoke. Jim looked back to you with a smirk on his face.  
“But we both know that’s not quite true.” Jim said. “Well, I better be off. So nice to have had a proper chat.  
“What if I was to shoot you now? Right now?” Sherlock asked.  
“Then you could cherish the look of surprise on my face. ‘Cause I’d be surprised, Sherlock. Really, I would. And just a teensy bit… disappointed. And of course, you wouldn’t be able to cherish it for very long. Ciao, Sherlock Holmes.” Jim said, turning and opening the door.  
“Catch you later.” sherlock said.  
“No, you won’t” Jim yelled back, slamming the door. After the door was closed Sherlock placed his gun on the ground and ripped the coat off of you. He then proceeded the unstrap all the explosives from around your waist.  
“All right?” Sherlock asked, you were still groggy from being drugged. “Are you alright?”  
“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine.” He slid the explosives down to the other side of the pool. You grabbed onto the pillar as your head began to spin. Sherlock had picked back up his gun and began inspecting the place.  
“Are you okay?” you asked him. He was pacing .  
“Me? Yeah, fine. I’m fine. Fine.” He kept mumbling. “That, uh… That you did. That um, you offered to do… that was, um.. Good.” He said, trying to find the words. That was Sherlock for ‘thank you’.  
“I’m glad no one saw that.” you said.  
“Hmm?” He asked.  
“You ripping my clothes off in a darkened swimming pool. People would talk.” you smiled, trying to lighten the situation.  
“People do little else.” He smiled back. You went to look down at the revealing dress you were wearing when you noticed the red dot re-appear. The door opened and Moriarty’s voice was back.  
“Sorry, you two.” He began, you looked up to Sherlock and he was being targeted too.  
“I’m so changeable. It is a weakness with me, but to be fair to myself, it is my only weakness. You can’t be allowed to continue. You just can’t. I would try to convince you, but everything I have to say has already crossed your mind.”  
You were now standing next to Sherlock, nearly the same height with the heels you had been put in. He looked to you and you nodded.  
“Possibly my answer has crossed yours.” Sherlock said, pointing the gun at Moriarty, then slowly lowering it to the explosives that he had ripped from your body and slid to where he was standing. You closed your eyes and waited for him to pull the trigger.


	26. Chapter 26

Your eyes were closed. You couldn’t watch Sherlock pull the trigger. You’d made peace with the decision though. You and Sherlock were going to die, but so would Jim Moriarty, and that was enough for you.  
You’re eyes burst open when instead of an explosion, you heard Stayin’ Alive playing throughout the pool. You looked to Sherlock questioningly, as he did the same to you. Neither of you knew where the music was coming from. You looked to Jim Moriarty who was rolling his eyes. Instead of being confused by the music, he was just annoyed.  
“Do you mind if I get that?” Jim suddenly asked. It was his phone ringing, at a time like this.  
“Oh no, please. You’ve got the rest of your life.” Sherlock said, still pointing the gun at Jim. He pulled his phone out of his pocket.  
“Hello? Yes, of course it is. What do you want?” Jim said, annoyed. Did someone just seriously ask him ‘Is this Jim Moriarty?’.  
‘Sorry’. Jim mouthed, as he slowly turned around.  
“Oh it’s fine.’ Sherlock mouthed back.  
image  
“Say that again!” Jim suddenly shouted and a hush fell over the room. “Say that again and know that if you’re lying to me, I will find you, and I will skin you.”  
Sherlock looked to you in disbelief. Jim Moriarty was a whole new brand of psychopath. Jim put the call on hold and began walking towards the two of you.  
“Sorry, wrong day to die.” He spoke in a somber tone.  
“Did you get a better offer?” You asked, rudely.  
“You’ll be hearing from me, Sherlock.” Was his only answer. Jim continued to turn around, and walk towards the exit.  
“If you have what you say you have, I will make you rich. If you don’t, I’ll make you into shoes.” Jim spoke into the phone before snapping his fingers and leaving the pool. As he snapped you noticed all the little red dots disappearing. He had called off the snipers.  
“What the hell just happened?” You asked, in shock of the whole situation.  
“Someone changed his mind,” Sherlock spoke, “Question is, who?”  
You two immediately left the pool. Before hailing a cab Sherlock took off his coat and wrapped it around you. It was chilly outside and you were wearing very little. You looked like a high price call girl. You got into the cab and the two of you decided it would be best not to tell Lestrade about what happened. Jim would be coming back, you just weren’t sure how or when.  
The next few weeks had been normal. No serial killers, no bombers, no Jim Moriarty. You had seen Sherlock a lot more though. Per Mycroft’s request you kept him busy. It wasn’t just because of Mycroft that you spent time with Sherlock, you genuinely like him and wanted to be around him.  
Sherlock and John seemed to be solving some smaller cases together, which you enjoyed reading on John’s Blog. They had come to the Yard sometimes for some of the cases, but otherwise not much was going on.  
You had run into both of them after the plane crash in Dusseldorf. An abandoned car was found with the body of a man who was checked on board the flight. The man should have died in a plane crash in Germany the day before, but here he was in a trunk in Southwark.  
A couple more cases had come in, attracting quite a lot of press. Not due to the crime, but because Sherlock was there. The press specifically wanted photographs of Sherlock, he was an internet phenomenon. To that Sherlock complainted that he was a private detective, and the last thing he needs is a public image. In the papers the next day was a picture of Sherlock next to you, leaving the crime scene.  
The next time you saw Sherlock you were facetiming him from a crime scene. A man had come to his apartment thinking he’d killed a man when his car backfired. Technically this was DI Carter’s case, but Lestrade sent you so Sherlock would be there. Sherlock of course didn’t think the case was important enough for him to leave the flat.  
“You realise this is a tiny bit humiliating?” You asked Sherlock through the camera. He was literally only wearing a sheet. A sheet. He had crawled out of bed and taken the sheet with him.  
“It’s okay, I’m fine. Now, show me to the stream.” He said, yawning and grabbing a cup of tea.  
“I didn’t really mean for you.” You retorted. He carried his laptop out of the kitchen and to his desk, where he sat down.  
image  
“Look, this is a six. There’s no point in my leaving the flat for anything less than a seven.” Sherlock explained and you rolled your eyes.  
Sherlock continued to have you point the camera in different directions so he could examine the scene. Suddenly you could hear the doorbell ringing through the phone.  
“Shut up!” Sherlock yelled. Sherlock then instructed you to show him where the car was that backfired.  
“If you’re thinking gunshot, there wasn’t one. He was killed by a single blow to the back of the head from a blunt instrument, which then magically disappeared along with the killer.” You told him.  
“You’ve got two more minutes, they want to know more about the driver.” DI Carter told you.  
“Oh, forget him, he’s an idiot. Why else would he think himself a suspect?” Sherlock asked.  
image  
“I think he’s a suspect.” Carter said, leaning into frame where Sherlock could see him.  
“Pass me over.” Sherlock said, annoyed.  
“All right, but there’s a mute button and I will use it.” You warned, handing your phone to Carter. You could hear his voice as you began to walk away.  
“Having driven to an isolated location and successfully committed a crime without a single witness, why would he then call the police and consult a detective? Fair play?” Sherlock asked.  
“He’s trying to be clever. It’s overconfidence.” Carter argued.  
“Did you see him? Morbidly obese, the undisguised halitosis of a single man living on his own. The right sleeve of an internet porn addict and the breathing pattern of an untreated heart condition, low self-esteem, tiny IQ and a limited life expectancy and you think he’s an audacious criminal mastermind? Don’t worry this is just stupid.” Sherlock said, turning around and saying that last bit to the man himself. The driver was sitting in his flat behind him in John’s chair, with a look of shock on his face that Sherlock had just said all of those things about him.  
Sherlock instructed Carter to go to the stream as you took your phone back. You noticed Mrs. Hudson showing two men into Sherlock’s flat. They were both large and wearing expensive suits.  
“Who the hell are you?” Sherlock asked, still in his sheet.  
“Sorry, Mr. Holmes…” the man said, approaching the computer and closing it forcefully, ending the facetime call. A young police officer approached you, holding a phone to his ear.  
“Sergeant Gregson?” He asked.  
“Yeah.” you answered, turning around.  
“It’s for you.” He said, and you assumed he meant the telephone call.  
“Okay, thanks.” you said, reaching your hand out for him to give you the phone.  
“Uh, no, ma’am, the helicopter.” He said, tilting his hand towards the helicopter that had just landed outside of the crime scene. You looked at him questioningly to make sure you’d heard him right.  
You slowly walked towards the helicopter where two large men, similar to the ones who had showed up at Sherlock’s flat, helped you into the helicopter before taking off again. You realized it was going back into the city when you started noticing things like The London Eye and Buckingham Palace. The helicopter then landed right behind Buckingham Palace. Your eyes grew wide and took everything in as the two men escorted you into the Palace and into a sitting room. As you turned the corner you noticed clothes and shoes in a pile on the coffee table. Next to them was a couch where Sherlock Holmes sat, still in his sheet.  
You raised your hands, silently asking him what the hell you two were doing here, but in reply he only raised his shoulders and rolled his eyes. You entered the room and sat down next to him. You examined him, looking him up and down.  
“Are you wearing any pants?” You asked.  
“No.” He answered simply.  
“Okay.” you said, processing everything. You then turned to look at each other, when you did you both burst into laughter.  
“At Buckingham Palace. Right. I’m seriously fighting an impulse to steal an ashtray.” you said, causing Sherlock to laugh again. You shook your head, smiling.  
“What are we doing here, Sherlock? Seriously, what?” you asked, smiling.  
“I don’t know.” Sherlock answered.  
“Here to see the queen?” You asked, hearing footsteps approaching.  
“Oh, apparently, yes.” Sherlock said as Mycroft entered the room. His comment made you burst into laughter again, earning a displeased look from Mycroft.  
“Just once can you two behave like grownups?” Mycroft asked.  
“He’s literally wearing a sheet. I wouldn’t hold out too much hope.” You answered.  
“I was in the middle of a case, Mycroft.” Sherlock said.  
“What, the hiker and the backfire? I glanced at the police report, a bit obvious, surely?” Mycroft said.  
“Transparent.” Sherlock said, and rightfully so.  
“Time to move on, then.” Mycroft said. He picked up the pile of Sherlock’s clothes to hand to him but Sherlock refused to take them.  
“We are in Buckingham Palace, the very heart of the British nation. Sherlock Holmes put your trousers on!” Mycroft scolded.  
“What for?” He shrugged.  
“Your client.” Mycroft answered.  
“And my client is?” Sherlock asked, standing up.  
“Illustrious, in the extreme. And remaining, I have to inform you, entirely anonymous.” Another man entered the room saying, Mycroft placed the pile back down onto the table.  
“Mycroft.” the man smiled, shaking his hand.  
“Harry. May I just apologise for the state of my litter brother?” Mycroft said.  
“Full time occupation, I imagine.” the man said, rudely. “And you must be Y/N Gregson, my employer enjoys reading about you two on Dr. Watson’s blog.”  
You smiled and shook his hand, not knowing how to respond. He moved on to Sherlock.  
“And Mr. Holmes the younger. You look taller in your photographs.” He said rudely.  
“I take the precaution of a good coat and a short friend. Mycroft, I don’t do anonymous clients. I’m used to mystery at one end of my cases, both ends is too much work. Good morning.” Sherlock said, beginning to walk out of the room. Before he could make it to the door Mycroft stepped on the sheet, which began to pull away from his body. Sherlock caught it at his waist before he was fully exposed. A blush spread over your cheeks at the amount of skin showing.  
“This is a matter of national importance. Grow up!” Mycroft scolded Sherlock.  
“Get off my sheet!” He argued back.  
“Or what?” Mycroft asked, teasingly.  
“Or I’ll just walk away.” Sherlock returned.  
“I’ll let you.” Mycroft retorted.  
“Boys, please. Not here.” You pleaded with them.  
“Who is my client?” Sherlock asked angrily.  
“Take a look at where you’re standing and make a deduction. You are to be engaged by the highest in the land. Now for God sake! Put your clothes on!” Mycroft yelled. Sherlock rolled his eyes, but complied. He returned to the room after a few minutes, you could tell that he was displeased that the secret service men had not grabbed his favorite coat, only a suit.  
“I’ll be mother.” Mycroft smiled as he poured tea for all of us.  
“And there is a whole childhood in a nutshell.” Sherlock retorted. You began to smile and then hid it. Mycroft seemed extremely displeased with his comment.  
“My employer has a problem.” The man Mycroft called ‘Harry’ explained.  
“A matter has come to light of an extremely delicate and potentially criminal nature and in this hour of need, dear brother, your name has arisen.” Mycroft continued to explain.  
“Why? You have a police force of sorts, even a marginally secret service. Why come to me?” Sherlock asked, rudely.  
“People do come to you for help, don’t they, Mr. Holmes?” Harry asked.  
“Not to date anyone with a navy.” Sherlock returned.  
“This is a matter of the highest security and therefore of trust.” Mycroft said.  
“You don’t trust your own secret service?” You asked him.  
“Naturally not. They all spy on people for money.” Mycroft smiled. Further making you raise the question of why you personally where there.  
“Why am I here then Mycroft?” You asked.  
“You have proven your trust and ability to keep my brother in line.” He spoke, you rolled your eyes.  
“I do think we have a timetable.” Harry said, changing the subject.  
“Yes, of course.” Mycroft said, clearing his throat. He picked up a briefcase and began to unlock it as you picked up your tea and saucer from the table.  
“What do you know about this woman?” Mycroft asked Sherlock, handing him a picture of a woman with bright red lipstick, brown hair, she was older but of course tried to hide it. If you had to guess you would have to say almost 40.  
“Nothing whatsoever.” Sherlock answered.  
“Then you should be paying more attention. She’s been at the centre of two political scandals in the last year and recently ended the marriage of a prominent novelist, by having an affair with both participants separately.” Mycroft spoke as you took a sip of your tea.  
“You know I don’t concern myself with trivia. Who is she?” Sherlock asked.  
“Irene Adler, professionally known as The Woman.” Mycroft explained.  
“Professionally?” You asked.  
“There are many names for what she does, she prefers ‘dominatrix’.” He explained, you raised an eyebrow.  
“Dominatrix.” Sherlock repeated curiously.  
“Don’t be alarmed. It’s to do with sex.” Mycroft smirked.  
“Sex doesn’t alarm me.” Sherlock retorted coolly.  
“How would you know?” Mycroft smirked and spoke softly. You sat there extremely awkwardly, looking between the two brothers. “She provides, shall we say, recreational scolding for those who enjoy that sort of thing and are prepared to pay for it. These are all from her website.”  
Mycroft handed Sherlock some more photographs. He examined them carefully.  
“And I assume this Adler woman has some compromising photographs?” Sherlock spoke as you took another sip from your tea. Your only purpose here was to make sure Sherlock was kept in line.  
“You’re very quick Mr. Holmes.” Harry said.  
“Hardly a difficult deduction. Photographs of whom?” He asked.  
“A person of significance to my employer. We’d prefer not to say any more at this time.” Harry answered.  
“You can’t tell us anything?” You asked.  
“I can tell you it’s a young person. A young female person.” Mycroft said, disappointingly.  
“How many photographs?” Sherlock asked.  
“A considerable number, apparently.” Mycroft answered, keeping his answers short and to the point.  
“Do Miss Adler and this young female person appear in these photographs together?” Sherlock asks again.  
“Yes, they do.” Mycroft answers.  
“And I assume in a number of compromising scenarios?” Sherlock pushed.  
“An imaginative range, we are assured.” Mycroft said. Your eyes were wide in shock and you held your tea cup a couple inches below your lips.  
“Y/N, you might want to put that cup back in your saucer now.” Sherlock instructed, rightfully so, as you were about to drop it.  
“Can you help us, Mr. Holmes?” Harry asked.  
“How?” He asked.  
“Will you take the case?” Harry asked again.  
“What case? Pay her, now and in full. As Miss Adler remarks in her masthead, know when you are beaten.” Sherlock said, grabbing his coat and exiting the room.  
“Nice to meet you.” You said to Harry, before nodding at Mycroft. You followed Sherlock out of the room.   
You followed Sherlock outside of the palace where the two of you began your walk back home. Baker Street was only about a 15 minute walk from Buckingham Palace.  
“Hungry?” Sherlock asked you.  
You glanced at your phone. “Uh, not really.” You answered absentmindedly as you noticed you had 10 missed calls from your mother and two from your sister.  
“Shit.” You mumbled, hoping everything was alright. Sherlock looked to you questioningly and then looked down to your phone. He noticed the numerous missed calls as well. You quickly called your mother back, you continued walking as you wait for her to pick up. With the five hour time difference you hoped it wasn’t too late for her.  
She finally answered but all you could hear on the other side were sobs.  
“Mother?” You asked, afraid. “What happened, what’s wrong?”  
Her answer made you stop dead in your tracks. Sherlock took a few more steps before turning around realizing you were a couple feet behind. The blank, drained look on your face caused him to rush to your side.  
“It’s your father honey, he’s dead.” Your mother sobbed.


	27. Chapter 27

Your phone slowly lowered to your side, you were in shock. Your father was only 65 and in good health.  
“Y/N?” Sherlock asked you softly. Your hand clapped over your mouth, tears streaming down your cheeks. You slowly raised your phone back to your ear.  
“I’ve booked you a flight out of London tonight at 10 o’clock. Honey, I need you back home, we all need you here.” She cried.  
“Ok, I’ll be there.” Your voice cracked as your mother ended the call. You looked up to Sherlock, who no doubt had deduced what had happened. He wiped the tears on your cheeks and examined your face carefully.  
“Let’s get you home.” He said, you were only a block from your flat. There were a thousand thoughts running through your head. How had it happened? Where was he? When did it happen? Was it murder? Suicide? Did all of your family know? How was your sister? Did your brother even know? He was still in Afghanistan. Was he going to be released to come to the funeral?  
If it weren’t for Sherlock leading you back to your flat, you didn’t know where you might have ended up. You dug your keys out of your bag but your hands were shaking too much to fit it in the hole. Sherlock placed his hand over yours and helped you. You carefully walked up the stairs. You had a few hours before you needed to be at the airport. If you could barely get home and up the stairs by yourself you didn’t know how you were going to be able to get to the airport, through security, and find your gate all by yourself.  
Sherlock looked at you curiously. He didn’t know how someone as strong as you could look so… broken.  
You went into your bedroom and pulled a suitcase out from under your bed. You placed it on top and unzipped it. You started throwing things inside, not even folding them, you didn’t even know what you were bringing. What were you supposed to even wear to your father’s funeral. For someone who loved fashion as much as you did, you never picked up a dress and thought, this would be perfect to wear to my father’s funeral. You went back to your closet and started rummaging through it. You stopped when your eyes landed on one dress. You grabbed it and let the fabric slip through your fingers. You were probably standing there holding that dress for about five minutes before Sherlock approached you from behind.  
“What is it?” He asked. You were lost in a memory, but you snapped out of it when he spoke to you.  
“I wore this to dinner with my father last time I saw him. It was right before I moved here. He was in Manhattan on business. He told me not to move to London.” You explained. You pushed the dress into the back of your closet, you didn’t want to have to look at it. You thoughtlessly threw some more clothes and things into the luggage in a pile. Sherlock began taking them out and folding them back in so they wouldn’t all be wrinkled when you arrived. You were pacing the room, arms crossed.  
“I have to talk to Lestrade.” you said to yourself as you paced.  
“I’ll take care of it.” Sherlock spoke, you stopped in front of him for a moment before nodding.  
“I don’t think I can do this.” You said, dropping your head into your hands, drained of all your tears.  
“I could come with you if you want.” Sherlock said carefully.  
“You would do that for me?” You asked.  
“Of course. I want to make sure you get there in one piece.” He smiled softly.  
“Thank you.” you said, accepting his offer.  
You grabbed your purse and began to walk towards the door when Sherlock asked you a question, “Do you have your passport?”  
“Oh, no, thanks.” You mumbled while retrieving it from the top drawer of your night stand.  
Sherlock carried your luggage down the stairs as you heard Mrs. Astor coming out of her room.  
“Going on vacation, dear?” She asked with a smile. She turned and saw Sherlock, she was secretly a huge fan of John’s Blog and happy to see him here so frequently.  
“I’m going to be gone for a few days, maybe a week. I have to go to a funeral.” You explained to her.  
“Oh ok, well I’m sorry dear. Be safe.” She said hugging you.  
The two of you caught a cab to Baker Street, which was just around the corner. Sherlock got out to pack a bag quickly, but you decided to stay in the cab and wait.  
“You know the meter’s still running, right?” The cabbie asked after about five minutes of waiting.  
“Do I look like I give a damn?” You shot back. Sherlock placed a bag in the back and slid in next to you.  
“Sorry, John was asking a lot of questions.” Sherlock said. Your phone buzzed after he spoke. You looked down and your mother had sent you your boarding pass.  
“Heathrow.” Sherlock told the cabbie as you were on your phone.  
You also had a text from Lestrade that said “Take as long as you need, we’re all here for you when you get back.” You sent back a quick thank you and moved on.  
Mycroft had also sent you a text, which was very surprising.  
I’m dreadfully sorry for your loss. If there’s anything I can do for you let me know.  
MH  
How had Mycroft known? Oh, Sherlock must have told him. Mycroft probably got Sherlock a seat on the flight. London to DC flights were usually pretty full.  
You got to the airport and through security painlessly. You got to the gate with time to spare before realizing the plane was delayed by almost an hour. You sighed and found a seat to wait in. Sherlock looked to you, wondering what he could do to cheer you up or set your mind on something else.  
“Want to play murder?” He asked you. It was something you two had been doing recently. Whenever you were bored in a public place you would decide what ways you would murder someone. It seems morbid but it was really quite silly.  
“Alright.” you said, looking around for someone to pick. “Grey suit, four o’clock.”  
“Hmmm. The easy way would be to slip something into the coffee he’s guzzling like it’s going out of style.”  
“That’s too easy. My turn.” You said, Sherlock’s plan was working, you were distracted.  
“Politician with the bodyguard, nine o’clock.” Sherlock spoke.  
“Hmm. To be not boring, I’d say I would seduce him, then the bodyguard won’t be around. After he was out of the picture it would be the easiest thing in the world to inject air right into a vein or artery when he wasn’t expecting it.” You spoke.  
“Inducing a heart attack, stroke, or respiratory failure. Creative, bonus points.” Sherlock said.  
Before you knew it the plane had arrived and you had taken off. After eight hours the two of you had landed in DC. After going through customs you made your way to baggage claim.  
“Thank you again for coming with me, I don’t think I could have made it here on my own.” You told Sherlock.  
“You know I would do anything for you. Plus, I don’t know what I would do if I lost you. I’d probably have to work with Sally or Anderson.” Sherlock said their names in disgust, causing you to laugh.  
“Does your family live in DC?” Sherlock asked.  
“They moved here after I graduated high school. Before that we lived in Manhattan my whole life.” You answered, grabbing your luggage.  
You turned around at the sound of your name being called. Then your eyes landed on him. Your Uncle Ryan. Your stomach sunk as you saw his face, it nearly made you sick.  
“Hey Y/Nickname.” He said, walking towards you. He was the reason you hated that nickname. He was the one who ruined everything, and was never going to pay for it.  
“What are you doing here?” You almost growled at him.  
“I’m here to pick you up kiddo. Is he with you?” Your uncle Ryan pointed to Sherlock.  
“Sherlock.” He said, shaking his hand.  
“Ryan Spencer, I’m Y/Nickname’s uncle.” He said with a fake smile. It made you want to punch him, only you knew the true evil in his heart. The disgusting secrets the facade hid. Of course he made sure you would never tell anyone what had happened. Even if you did, who would believe you? He was a well respected FBI director.  
You followed him out to his car. He loaded the luggage into the back as you moved to get in the back of the car.  
“Don’t you want to sit in the front Y/Nickname?” He asked after Sherlock had gone on the other side of the car to get in the back.  
“No.” You spoke firmly.  
“Go sit in the front.” He said more firmly.  
“I said no. Oh wait, I forgot that word means nothing to you.” you growled before getting in the back anyway.  
It was about a thirty minute drive from the airport to your parents new house. During the drive Ryan made small talk and kept asking Sherlock questions. Sherlock was playing pleasant. You enjoyed the act though, he wouldn’t rub anyone the wrong way like this. And your mother would love him, in fact all of your family would. It wasn’t really Sherlock though, you liked the cold, calculating, sassy Sherlock with a soft spot for you. All that mattered though was that you were here, and he was helping you, it would be a drama free week.  
“So what do you do Sherlock?” Ryan asked him.  
“I’m a consulting detective.” Sherlock answered.  
“Like a PI? I work for the FBI so I understand. I always take credit and say that’s the reason that Y/Nickname here went into law enforcement. Aint that right Detective Gregson?” He asked with a fake smirk.  
“It’s Sergeant Gregson.” You retorted. He was the reason you went into law enforcement, but not because you wanted to follow in his footsteps. You wanted to prevent what happened to you from happening to anyone else. You wanted to lock up bad guys, make the world a safer place.  
You pulled into the driveway and your uncle brought all your luggage into the house. You lead Sherlock into the house ahead of him and your sister Angelica was the first to run and greet you.  
“Y/N!” Angelica screamed as you entered the house. She nearly tackled you in a hug, she was the affectionate one in the family.  
“Hey sis.” You smiled as you hugged her back. You didn’t get to see her much, she was a couple years older than you and lived in San Francisco. She was a ‘Luxury Real Estate Agent’ as she liked to call it. She wasn’t married yet which surprised you since she really was the most bubbly and outgoing in your family.  
“Who’s this?” She asked with a smile, referring to Sherlock.  
“Sherlock.” He smiled and shook her hand.  
“Oh I love your accent, come on, mom’s waiting for us in the kitchen.” Angelica squealed. When she was out of Sherlock’s line of sight she gave you a nice thumbs up and nod of approval.  
You stepped in the kitchen where your mother was talking with your uncle. Your smile faded at the sight of him again. Your mother was looking better than she sounded on the phone yesterday. She must have been putting up a front now that all of the family was here.  
“Oh, Y/N I’m so glad you could make it. I hope the flight wasn’t too long, ooh you’ve brought a friend.” Your mother smiled, examining Sherlock.  
“Mom, this is Sherlock Holmes. I wouldn’t have gotten here without him.” You said to her as she pulled you into a hug.  
“Holmes?” Your uncle asked, clearly recognizing the last name. When you nodded he only grunted and continued on to bring the luggage upstairs.  
“Well, if you got my baby here safe we’re glad to have you here.” Your mother prattled on, playing the perfect hostess.  
Your phone rang and you looked down to see who it was while your mother looked at you suspiciously.  
“It’s Charles, I’ll be back.” You said, kissing your mother’s cheek and leaving to take the call from your brother. No doubt, the moment you left your mom was going to begin questioning Sherlock like crazy.  
“How’s my baby sister holding up?” Charles asked you as you answered the phone.  
“I’m hanging in there. When I first heard the news I was a mess. I literally couldn’t do anything. I almost forgot my passport, packing was a struggle. If it weren’t for Sherlock I would not have made it to the airport.” You explained to him.  
“Sherlock? Have you got a boyfriend already?” Charles asked you. You mentally beat yourself for mentioning him, Charles was very protective.  
“He’s not really my boyfriend. We work together, we live around the corner. He was the first person I met when I moved to London.” You said.  
“So you brought your non-boyfriend home to mom for dad’s funeral?” He asked.  
“Well, when you put it like that. But, enough about me Chuck how are you?” You asked.  
“I’m fine, I was a little surprised when I got the call but it wasn’t totally out of the blue. He had heart problems sis, and a very stressful job.” He explained to you.  
“I didn’t think it was that serious…” You sighed.  
“How’s mom holding up?” Charles asked you.  
“She didn’t sound so good when she told me, but now of course she’s hiding it all to save face. Chucky are they going to let you come to the funeral?” You asked him.  
“I’m so sorry sis. I can’t, they won’t let me leave. I need you to take care of mom and Angelica. Also this Sherlock guy better treat you right. Tell him that your brother is in the army and will kick his ass if he hurts you.” He said, you could tell he was smiling.  
“Don’t worry Chucky, his flatmate was just released from the military and I think he would kick his ass for you.” You smiled.  
“Listen Y/N, I gotta go but remember I love you.” Charles said.  
“I love you too, bye Chucky.” You said, ending the call.  
You walked towards the garage door to go back into the house. Before you could get there, someone pulled you to the side, holding you against the wall, their hands on your wrist. Uncle Ryan.  
“Hold your horses Y/Nickname, we have some things to discuss.” Ryan spit.  
“Get off of me.” You growled.  
“I’ll let you go when I’m done. You haven’t told your new boy toy about us right?” He asked.  
“Us? You mean I haven’t told him what you did to me? No, but I should, there’s nothing you can do about it. I don’t have anymore dogs for you to kill to make sure I don’t. I live an ocean away. Yesterday, when I was having tea at Buckingham Palace with Sherlock and his brother I thought about it. You see, the Holmes boys are very fond of me and they wouldn’t be very pleased to find out anything bad ever happened to me.” You said, with anger in your eyes.  
Before you knew it, his hand came flying down slapping you across the face.  
“Mycroft Holmes wouldn’t risk his career to end mine. He wouldn’t mess with the FBI, even if he does run England. You’re bluffing.” He said, his hands were now back on your wrists, squeezing tighter and tighter. You whimpered.  
“Am I? I could call him right now. I could destroy your reputation. Sherlock is a minor celebrity in London, even the Queen is a fan, we’re in the papers together every week. The people might not like to find out their favorite female detective was raped, the man who did it would be hated throughout the whole country. I could sell the story to Daily Mail, give an interview and everything. How long do you think it would take to spread to America?” You said, finally standing up to him.  
“You wouldn’t. No one would believe you.” He growled.  
“You could take that chance.” You said.  
“The statutes of limitations are up, I’ll serve no punishment.” He smirked.  
“Doesn’t mean I can’t smear your reputation.” You said.  
“Remember what happened last time you almost told someone? That was just a glimpse of what I’m capable of. You wouldn’t want to go home without your little boyfriend would you?” He said. Last time I almost told he had killed my German Shepard. He hit him with his car, then ran him over repeatedly. After he explained every detail to you while he beat you.  
“You wouldn’t dare touch him.” You cried.  
“I would.” He said, aggressively wiping your tears from your face, keeping his hand on your face. He moved his lips to your neck. You were pinned to the wall and couldn’t move.  
“No!” You shouted. His other hand moved to slap over your mouth.  
“Shhh. Mmm I had forgotten how good you tasted Y/Nickname.” Ryan said, sliding a hand down to cup one of your breasts. The second he did, you were able to move your leg and knee him directly where the sun doesn’t shine. He groaned and it gave you time to reverse things. You pinned him to the wall and grabbed one of your mother’s sharp gardening shears and held them to his neck.  
“Someone’s been training.” He only laughed, a laugh that reminded you too much of James Moriarty.  
“You couldn’t do it. You don’t have it in you to kill me.” He taunted you. You held the shears to his throat for a few more moments before dropping them. He was right you couldn’t do it. You took a step back and turned to re-enter the house, leaving him. He got what he wanted though, you couldn’t tell anyone, you couldn’t risk Sherlock’s life.


	28. Chapter 28

You came in through the kitchen and found everyone in the living room. You didn’t realize you probably looked like you were crying, because you were.  
“Are you okay?” Sherlock asked you as you came to sit down next to him.  
“I was just talking to my brother. They’re not releasing him to come to the funeral.” You nodded, lying about why you were really upset.  
“He’s in Afghanistan or Iraq?” Sherlock asked.  
“Afghanistan.” You answered, he nodded. He wrapped his arm around you and you leaned into him. You felt safe in his arms, here your uncle Ryan couldn’t hurt you.  
“I think I’m going to have to move to London, clearly that’s where all the good guys are.” Angelica joked upon seeing you and Sherlock. As she said that your uncle returned and sat down opposite you next to your mum.  
“Maybe we should introduce her to Mycroft.” Sherlock joked. You saw your uncle stiffen at the sound of his name. It’s nice to know that his name instills this much fear in your uncle. If he wasn’t at the top of the FBI you’re sure he wouldn’t know it.  
“I don’t think Mycroft deserves her.” You smiled.  
“Who’s Mycroft?” Angelica asked eagerly.  
“Sherlock’s older brother.” You answered.  
“Oh there’s another one of you? Please and thank you, I’ll take five.” Angelica said with a smile and a laugh.  
“Oh maybe Lestrade?” You joked.  
“As long as it’s not Anderson, though I think your sister will be visiting a lot more now.” Sherlock smiled.  
“Oh definitely, I’ll just show up on your doorstep randomly and be ready to stay for a week.” Angelica said, and you doubted she was joking. Angelica had this gift, she could always cheer up a room. She was going to make this situation the best it could be. Even though we were mourning the loss of our father, she was going to make sure we only remembered the good memories we made with him. She was going to make sure everyone was smiling and there were no more tears. That was just her nature.  
“Y/N, I’ve put you and Sherlock in the room on the back right side upstairs. I know you two are probably exhausted from flying and the time change. Why don’t you two go rest and then freshen up before we all go out to dinner tonight.” Your mother instructed. You nodded and Sherlock followed you up the stairs and to the room. Your mother liked to control everything and have everything her way so it was better to just do as you were told around her.  
You closed the door behind you after Sherlock stepped into the room where your bags had already been placed. You immediately collapsed onto the bed with a sigh. Sherlock laughed as you did so. You sat up as he sat down next to you.  
“Thank you for coming here with me. I really appreciate you, well…” You began but he finished your sentence.  
“Not being myself.” He said.  
“I wasn’t going to say that, but yes. Thank you for being civil. For my family it’s great but you don’t have to pretend in here. I know the real you, Sherlock. I like the real you.” You said.  
“Thank God, being nice is so hard. Everyone is so simple with their little boring lives. I don’t know how you lived with them for so long.” Sherlock said, you smiled.  
“I kept to myself a lot I guess. I read a lot, I’m closer with my brother though than Angelica so I spent a lot of time with him.” You said, Sherlock nodded.  
“God I’m tired.” You said, falling back into the bed. Sherlock soon followed.  
“It’s so quiet here. I can walk outside of the house without having to put on that damn hat and have my picture in every paper.” Sherlock said, as you nuzzled into his side, exhausted.  
“Fame isn’t all it’s cracked up to be, huh?” You teased. Sherlock wrapped his arm around you, pulling you closer. He placed a kiss to your forehead and you smiled.  
You soon drifted off to sleep with your head rested on Sherlock’s chest. He fell asleep a little bit after you did.  
You woke up about an hour later feeling rested. Sherlock was still asleep so you decided to unpack a little and pick out something to wear for tonight. As you did this you thought about how lucky you were to have Sherlock here with you. You understood how hard it was for him to play nice, and you really appreciated it. You wished your father had a chance to meet Sherlock. Then another thought popped in your head causing tears to flow down your cheeks again.  
Sherlock woke up and glanced at you standing over your suitcase crying. He immediately jumped to your side.  
“What is it?” He said, wrapping his arms around you.  
“I just realized my father will never be able to walk me down the aisle.” You cried. Sherlock didn’t know how to respond so he just held you. He was new to all these emotions. He never imagined that you would come along and make him feel the things he did. He felt bad for you, he had infact imagined maybe one day marrying you. It would make sense, you were the only one he could tolerate, you were the only one he always wanted to spend time with, you were the only one he felt the closest thing to love that he was capable of for.  
You calmed down after a few minutes and looked at the clock. It was time to get ready for dinner. You slipped into a simple dress and you felt Sherlock’s eyes on you as you did so. You smirked and sauntered over to Sherlock. He was only wearing dress pants and no shirt.  
“Could you zip me up?” You asked, turning and moving your hair so he could do so. You felt him pull the zipper up effortlessly.  
“Thanks.” You muttered as you turned around slowly to face him. “I’ll run down stairs and see what time we’re leaving.” Sherlock only nodded.  
When you got down stairs you noticed that no one was down there. You stepped outside onto the porch to do what you really came down here to do. You pulled out your phone and placed a call, waiting impatiently for them to pick up.  
“Y/N, is everything alright?” Mycroft asked.  
“Yes, but I need you to do something for me and I need this to stay secret from Sherlock.” You said carefully.  
“What is it?” He asked.  
“I need you to dig up any dirt you can on Ryan Spencer.” You explained.  
“The FBI assistant director? He’s been working for Russia since 1980. Why do you care about him?” Mycroft asked, you didn’t know he was a double agent.  
“He’s my uncle. I need leverage over him. I can’t really explain it now Mycroft, he’s just not a good guy, at home and at work apparently.” You said.  
“Well, I’ll see what else I can find.” He said, you heard the door slide open behind you.  
“What are you doing out here all alone Y/Nickname?” Your uncle Ryan asked, you jumped slightly and turned to face him.  
“I’m on the phone clearly. John, thanks for your concern but we both made it safely.” You lied into your phone, pretending you were talking to John.  
“Be careful Y/N, Agent Spencer is trouble.” Mycroft said before hanging up the phone.  
“Who was that?” Ryan asked.  
“None of your business.” You growled.  
“John huh? Another boyfriend?” He asked, looking you up and down. “Nice dress by the way.”  
“John is Sherlock’s flatmate, he was just making sure we made it here okay.” You lied, pushing past him and back into the house. You went back upstairs before you had to speak to him again.  
When you got back to your room Sherlock was now fully dressed and putting his shoes on. He was in a simple suit and no tie. You noticed he wasn’t wearing his favorite coat, but if he really wasn’t being himself then maybe no coat.  
Dinner was uneventful and Sherlock continued playing the part of the perfect boyfriend. Whenever your sister said something dumb you noticed it physically pained Sherlock to not correct her or say some snide remark. You applauded his dedication though. Your uncle Ryan drove all of you home. You were the last to get out of the car and before you did you turned to your uncle and said in perfect Russian.  
“до свидания, мудак.” You spoke and his eyes went wide. Goodbye, asshole.  
You jumped out of the car before he had a chance to question you. Mycroft had told you that he was working for Russia for the past 30 years.  
It was late, almost 11:30 so your mother ushered you all upstairs to bed. You got to the room and Sherlock had an almost sad look on his face.  
“What is it?” You asked, sitting next to him on the side of the bed.  
“Your family is all so normal. I see you with your family and I want to be normal for you.” Sherlock said, with a sad puppy dog look that made you want to hug him.  
“Sherlock, you’re not normal,” You began and he looked up to you almost confused, “But that’s why I love you.”  
He smiled the widest smile you have ever seen.  
“I’m just scared because you’re you. You’re the high functioning sociopath who says he’s not capable of feelings like that.” You said cautiously.  
“You were never supposed to mean this much to me. I was never supposed to fall this hard. But you know what? I did and that’s the truth, that’s what keeps me holding on because it hurts like hell to let you go.” Sherlock said, taking your hand in his.  
When you told him you loved him you never expected him to say it back. You knew how hard it was for him to say it, but he said it in his own way. You smiled and looked up to him.  
“You make me feel things I’ve never felt before.” Sherlock whispered, caressing your cheek.  
“I’m not used to being loved Y/N. I wouldn’t know what to do.” He spoke again.  
“For some reason I find that hard to believe.” You whispered as Sherlock closed the distance between the two of you. He placed his lips on yours. This time was different, he had never been the one to initiate these kinds of things.  
His lips moved in sync with yours. At first it was soft and careful, but it soon turned rough and hungry. It was like all the sexual tension had boiled up and was finally being released. Sherlock laid back onto the bed and pulled you down with him. His hands began exploring your body. You moved your hands into his curls and he let out a deep moan. His fingers found their way to the zipper of your dress and slowly pulled it down.  
He looked to you, almost for approval. You smirked and responded by slowly unbuttoning his shirt as you straddled him. You could feel him growing beneath you.  
He pulled the dress off of you, revealing that you weren’t wearing a bra and only thin lace panties. After unbuttoning his shirt you slipped it off and began to unbuckle his pants.  
“Are you sure?” You asked, before doing so.  
“Oh God yes, are you?” He asked back.  
“Definitely.” You smirked and continued to remove his pants. You slowly slipped your hand into his shorts, revealing his enlarged member. You stroked it slowly, before taking your tongue and tracing it from bottom to top. As you did so Sherlock let out another moan. You took him in your mouth as deep as you could, using your hand on the rest. Sherlock was a lot larger than you expected. Sherlock’s fingers intertwined into your hair as he quietly moaned your name.  
“God, I need you Y/N.” He said after a few minutes. You looked up to him and his eyes were full of lust. He quickly flipped you under him and placed another kiss on your lips. He began kissing down your body until his lips connected with your heat.  
“Sherlock.” You moaned. “Please.”  
Sherlock lifted himself above you and slowly inched himself inside you until he bottomed out. He let out another moan and reconnected his lips with yours. He began thrusting and his curls were tickling your neck. Your hands moved to his back, slowly running you nails up and down it, which only seemed to encourage him.  
“Oh God, Sherlock.” you moaned into his ear as he hit your G-spot. His pelvis was rubbing against your clit as he thrusted inside of you.  
“Y/N, I’m…” He struggled to say.  
“Me too Sherlock.” You whispered, as you both came undone. Sherlock flopped down next to you, breathing heavily.  
“Well now I see why people enjoy that so much.” He said, after his breathing had leveled out. You laughed as he pulled you closer into his chest, placing a kiss on your forehead.  
“That’s one less thing for Mycroft to make fun of me with now.” Sherlock said after a new minutes.  
“Please, I’d be surprised if Mycroft had ever even seen a girl naked before.” You retorted and Sherlock laughed. You soon fell asleep with his arm around you and your head on his bare chest.  
The next day was the funeral and as you had predicted, Angelica made it tear free. It was focused on all the good memories and things he had done. It was overall uneventful until you got home. Your mother left to change when you got home and Angelica returned upstairs to her room as well.  
“Y/N, can I speak to you alone for a moment?” Your Uncle Ryan asked, strangely for him, using your full name.  
“Whatever you have to say to me, you can say it in front of Sherlock. Хорошо?” You said. Okay?  
“You know what, I’ve just forgotten what I wanted to tell you. Why don’t you go pack and I’ll drive you to the airport. Your flight leaves in about three hours right.” He covered, though you weren’t sure exactly what he wanted to tell you, you assumed it was something along the lines of ‘Why do you keep speaking in Russian to me?’ or ‘How did you find out I’m working for the Russians?”.  
You did as he said and Sherlock followed you to the room to pack. You decided not to change, you were in a dress and long navy coat since it was chilly outside today. You threw the rest of your things into your bag and Sherlock carried it down the stairs with his own small bag.


	29. Chapter 29

When you arrived back in London you were greeted by a sleek black car to pick you up. You rolled your eyes when you realized who sent it, Mycroft. The car took the two of you to the Diogenes Club where you followed Sherlock back into an office that must have belonged to Mycroft.  
“Hello brother mine, Y/N.” Mycroft said, suspiciously looking between the two of you, undoubtedly deducting what had happened only last night but electing to ignore it.  
“This is about Irene Adler I assume.” you said, taking a seat in his office. Mycroft nodded as he and Sherlock both sat down as well.  
“She doesn’t want anything. She got in touch, she informed us that the photographs existed, she indicated that she had no intention to use them to extort either money or favour.” Mycroft explained.  
“A power play.” Sherlock cooed, glad to be putting his brain back to good use.  
“A power play with the most powerful family in Britain.” You continued.  
“She’s in London currently, I’ll text you the details.” Mycroft said as Sherlock grabbed his coat and walked out the door, you followed suit.  
“Where to now?” You asked Sherlock after you had stepped outside of the Diogenes Club.  
“Drop our stuff back at the flat, you can change if you’d like. Then we’ll go get the photographs.” Sherlock explained in the car. You smirked, the Sherlock you know and love was back.  
You were dropped at your flat and left your suitcase in the living room. You freshened up and opted for a simple dress and heels. Normally you might have worn something a little more casual but you wanted to look your best when you met this Adler woman. You wanted to make sure she didn’t get any ideas about stealing Sherlock. God, now you were jealous of a woman you had never even met. You greeted Mrs. Astor on the way out and ensured her that you were okay.  
You met Sherlock half way between your two flats and hailed a cab.  
“So are we just going to ring her doorbell?” You asked.  
“Yes, just here please!” Sherlock yelled to the cabbie when you were still a few blocks from the address Mycroft gave you. You gave Sherlock a confused look as you followed him out of the car and into a nearby alley.  
Sherlock ripped off his scarf, folded it, and placed it in his pockets.  
“What are we doing here?” You asked, looking around, your heels clicking on the dirty cement.  
“Punch me in the face.” Sherlock said casually and you looked at him like he was crazy.  
“Punch you?” You asked.  
“Yes, punch me, in the face. Didn’t you hear me?” Sherlock said, annoyed. You quickly punched him in the face and he groaned.  
“Thank you, that was, that was stronger than I anticipated from a girl.” Sherlock said.  
“Shut up or I’ll do it again.” You muttered, holding your hand.  
Sherlock told you the rest of the plan as you walked that last two blocks to the house. He slipped a white piece of plastic into his shirt collar and rang the doorbell.  
“Hello?” A voice asked through the intercom.  
“Um, hell. I’ve just been attacked. Um, and I think they, they took my wallet and, um, and my phone. Um, please, could you help me?” Sherlock pretended to be all out of sorts. It took everything in you to not laugh.  
“I could phone the police if you want.” The voice spoke.  
“Thank you, thank you. Could you, please? Er, would you, would you mind if I just waited her, just until they come? Thank you, thank you so much.” Sherlock said, pretending to cry and hold a handkerchief to his bloody cheek.  
The door buzzed and the two of you stepped inside.  
“Thank you, oh.” Sherlock said.  
“I saw it all happen. It’s okay, I’m a doctor.” You lied, playing along. “Have you got a first aid kit?”  
“In the kitchen, I’ll take you.” the redhead lady who opened the door said. You got it and returned to the sitting room where Sherlock was.  
“Right, this should do it.” You said, walking in seeing Sherlock sitting on the couch. Standing in front of him was Irene Adler, completely naked, with Sherlock’s roman collar in her mouth.  
“I’ve missed something, haven’t I.” You said, still standing in the doorway.  
“Please, sit down. Or if you’d like some tea, I can call the maid.” Irene said after taking the plastic out of her mouth.  
“Do you know the big problem with a disguise, Mr. Holmes? However hard you try, it’s always a self-portrait.” Irene said, sitting down in a chair.  
“You think he’s a vicar with a bleeding face?” You retorted.  
“No, I think he’s damaged, delusional, and believes in a higher power. In your case, it’s yourself.” She said, directing the last part at Sherlock.  
“Hmm, somebody loves you. If I had to punch that face, I’d avoid your nose and teeth too.” Irene said, looking at where you had punched Sherlock.  
“Could you put something on, please?” You said when she looked at you, knowing you were the one that punched him. When you said this she looked you up and down and then rolled her eyes. She picked up Sherlock’s jacket from the couch and slipped it on. Now, you wanted to punch her.  
“Nice dress, by the way.” She said to you. The way she was looking at you made you think, she wasn’t hitting on you was she?  
“Thanks.” You said carefully, and looked to Sherlock.  
“Now, tell me, I need to know. How was it done? The hiker with the bashed-in head, how was he killed?” Irene asked, while slipping off her shoes.  
“That’s not why I’m here.” Sherlock said.  
“No, no, no, you’re here for the photographs, but that’s never going to happen. And since we’re here just chatting anyway…” Irene said.  
“That story’s not been on the news yet, how do you know about it?” You asked.  
“I know one of the policemen. Well, I know what he likes. I like detective stories. And detectives. Brainy’s the new sexy.” She spoke, looking to you. You raised an eyebrow and looked to Sherlock.  
“The position of the car relative to the hiker at the time of the backfire, that and the fact that the death blow was to the back of the head, that’s all you need to know.” Sherlock said.  
“Ok, tell me how he was murdered.” Irene said.  
“He wasn’t.” You said.  
“You don’t think it was murder?” She asked.  
“I know it wasn’t.” Sherlock answered.  
“How?” She asked.  
“The same way that I know the victim was an excellent sportsman, recently returned from foreign travel and that the photographs I’m looking for are in this room.” Sherlock said.  
“Ok, but how?” Irene asked again.  
“So, they are in this room. Thank you. Y/N, man the door, let no one in.” He said and you smirked and stalked out of the room. That was your cue. Once you were outside of the room you looked for something to light on fire. There was a magazine on a table with some mail that you picked up and lit with a lighter Sherlock had given you. Soon the smoke alarm went off. Sherlock explained to you how fire exposes our priorities, on hearing the alarm Irene Adler would look to where the photographs are.  
“Alright Y/N, you can turn it off now.” You heard Sherlock yell. You were trying but it wouldn’t stop beeping. “I said you can turn it off now.”  
“Give me a minute.” You yelled back annoyed. You turned around at the sound of someone walking down the stairs. They pulled out a gun and shot the smoke alarm, causing it to stop.  
“Ryan.” You growled as you noticed the man coming down the stairs to be the very uncle that you despised. The man with him pointed his gun at you.  
“Hands behind your head, on the floor, keep it still!” Your uncle ryan entered the room yelling. One of his men pushed you to the floor, pointed his gun at the back of your head. Another man did the same to Irene.  
Your uncle pointed a silenced gun at Sherlock.  
“Don’t you want me on the floor too?” Sherlock asked.  
“No, sir, I want you to open the safe.” Ryan said harshly.  
“You’re American, why would you care?” Sherlock said, looking to you.  
“Sir, the safe, now, please.” Ryan said.  
“I don’t know the code.” Sherlock argued.  
“We’ve been listening, she said she told you.” Ryan retorted.  
“Well if you’ve been listening, you’ll know she didn’t.” Sherlock shot back.  
“I’m assuming I missed something. From your reputation, I’m assuming you didn’t, Mr. Holmes.” Ryan yelled.  
“For God’s sake, she’s the one who knows the code, ask her!” You yelled at him.  
“Yes, little Y/Nickname, she also knows the code that automatically calls the police and sets off the burglar alarm. I’ve learned not to trust this woman.” He replied, and you wondered how long she’s known him and who he was working for since the FBI clearly didn’t have jurisdiction over here.  
“Mr. Holmes doesn’t…” Irene began before Ryan cut her off.  
“Shut up! One more word out of you, just one, and I will decorate that wall with the insides of your head. That, for me, will not be hardship.” Ryan Spencer said, finally showing his true colors.  
“Mr. Archer, at the count of three, shoot Sergeant Gregson.” He said, spitting out your title at him just the same way you had to him in the car days ago.  
“What?” You said, looking up to him as you felt the cold metal of the gun being pushed into the back of your head.  
“I don’t know the code.” Sherlock said frightened.  
“One.” Ryan began counting.  
“I don’t know the code.” Sherlock said once more.  
“Two.” He said, you looked up to Sherlock with fear in your eyes.  
“She didn’t tell me, I don’t know it!” Sherlock yelled.  
“I’m prepared to believe you any second now. Three!” Ryan said, and you closed your eyes tightly as a tear slipped from one of your eyes.  
“No, stop!” Sherlock yelled. Sherlock turned to the safe and slowly began typing in numbers.  
“Thank you, Mr. Holmes. Open it, please.” Your uncle said at the sound of it unlocking. He turned the knob once and looked back to Irene, who put her head down.  
“Vatican cameos.” Sherlock said your code word. Battlestations, someone’s going to die. You quickly ducked as he opened the safe and a bullet came firing out of it, killing the man who was holding a gun to your head. Sherlock took the gun out of your uncle’s hands and pistol whipped him with it, knocking him out cold. Irene did the same to the man holding the gun to her head.  
“He’s dead.” you said, checking the pulse of the man who almost killed you. You also stole his gun.  
“There’ll be more of them, they’ll be keeping an eye on the building.” Sherlock said, rushing out of the room. You followed him.  
“We should call Lestrade.” You said, following Sherlock outside of the house. He raised the gun into the air and fired a few times.  
“On their way.” He said.  
“For God’s sake!” You scolded him.  
“Oh, shut up, it’s quick.” He responded. “Check the rest of the house, see how they got in.”  
You began searching the house upstairs, that was clearly how they got in. You noticed an open window. Also in the room was the woman who opened the door, unconscious on the floor.  
“Sherlock!” you called.  
When they made their way up the stairs you pointed to the window for Sherlock as Irene began to approach her friend.  
“It’s all right, she’s just out cold.” You told her.  
“Well God knows she’s used to that. There’s a backdoor, better check it, Sergeant Gregson.” She said. Clearly she wanted you out of the room. You looked to Sherlock who nodded, meaning it was okay. You stalked off to the bathroom which held the open window and supposed backdoor.  
You heard a crash after a minute and rushed back into the room. Sherlock was on the floor.  
“Jesus! What are you doing?” you yelled to Irene.  
“He’ll sleep for a few hours. Make sure he doesn’t choke on his own vomit, it makes for a very unattractive corpse.” She said. You saw an empty syringe.  
“What the hell did you give him?” You yelled.  
“He’ll be fine. I’ve used it on loads of my friends.” She said,  
“Sherlock, can you hear me?” You asked, bending down to him on the floor.  
“You know, I was wrong about him, he did know exactly where to look.” Irene said.  
“You bitch.” You said jealously. “The code, it was your measurements.”  
“Ooh you’re a smart one too. Have I mentioned how much I like detectives?” She asked before escaping through the fire escape when you heard police sirens approaching.  
You returned to Sherlock who was now unconscious on the floor. You saw Lestrade run in and look surprised too see you.  
“Y/N, I thought you were in the states?” He asked.  
“I was, I just got back today. We were doing a favor for Mycroft.” You explained.  
“We need a medic in here. What happened to him?” Lestrade asked.  
“He was drugged, I don’t know what with.” You answered.  
“By who?” He pressed.  
“Irene Adler.” You answered.  
Lestrade helped you get Sherlock home and in bed. He was out for a few hours. John had a date tonight and you promised you would take care of Sherlock so he could go. You sat in his chair reading for a few hours before he woke up. You were having trouble concentrating due to the ordeal with your uncle today. You still didn’t understand why he was here or who he was working for.  
“Y/N. Y/N!” You heard Sherlock yelling, which pulled you from your trance. You entered his room as he fell to the floor.  
“You okay?” You asked.  
“How did I get here?” Sherlock asked, still sitting on the floor.  
“Well, I don’t suppose you remember much, you weren’t making a lot of sense. Oh, I should warn you, I think Lestrade filmed you on his phone.” You said as Sherlock slowly stood up.  
“Where is she?” He asked.  
“Irene Adler? She got away, no one saw her. She wasn’t here, Sherlock.” You answered as he looked around the room and out the window. He then fell to the floor.  
“Back to bed. You’ll be fine in the morning, just sleep.” You said as you ushered him back into the bed and pulled the blanket back over him.  
“Of course I’ll be fine, I am fine. I’m absolutely fine.” He muttered.  
“Yes, you’re great. I’ll be in the living room if you need me.” You said, closing the door.  
“Why would I need you?” Sherlock said.  
“A thank you would have sufficed.” You called back, laughing to yourself.  
You fell asleep in Sherlock’s chair with a book on your lap. You woke the next morning to Mrs. Hudson bringing you tea. You thanked her and realized John hadn’t come home last night. You heard a knock at the door, Mrs. Hudson went to answer it while Sherlock came out of his room. He was now dressed in dress pants and a shirt, with his red dressing down over it.  
You heard footsteps coming up the stairs and saw Mycroft in the doorway.  
“Good morning, Mycroft.” You said as Sherlock now entered the living room.  
“Is it a good morning?” He asked, clearly not in a good mood.  
“The photographs are safe.” Sherlock answered, while sitting at his desk and opening up the newspaper.  
“In the hands of a fugitive sex worker?” Mycroft asked, displeased.  
“She’s not interested in blackmail. She wants protection for some reason. I take it you’ve stood down the police investigation into the shooting at her house?” Sherlock asked.  
“How can we do anything while she has the photographs? Our hands are tied.” Mycroft said.  
“You see how this works, that camera-phone is her get-out-of-jail-free card. You have to leaver her alone. Treat her like royalty, Mycroft.” Sherlock said.  
“Though not the way she treats royalty.” You jested.  
Suddenly the sound of an electronically recorded female moan came from Sherlock’s direction.  
“What was that?” You asked surprised, Mycroft too was looking around to see where the sound was coming from.  
“Text.” He said, pulling out his phone.  
“But what was that noise?” You asked again.  
“Did you know there were other people after her, too, Mycroft, before you sent Y/N and I in there. CIA trained killers, I think excellent guess. Ryan Spencer, your uncle, he told us he worked for the FBI.” Sherlock said.  
You looked up to Mycroft then back down to the ground.  
“It’s a disgrace, sending your little brother into danger like that. Family is all we have in the end, Mycroft Holmes!” Mrs. Hudson scolded as she brought Sherlock some food.  
“Oh, shut up, Mrs. Hudson!” Mycroft yelled back.  
“Mycroft!” You and Sherlock both yelled at the same time.  
“Apologies.” Mycroft said.  
“Thank you.” Mrs. Hudson said, going back to the kitchen.  
Sherlock’s phone moaned again.  
“Oh, it’s a bit rude, that noise, isn’t it?” Mrs. Hudson asked, and you agreed.  
“There’s nothing you can do and there’s nothing she will do as far as I can see.” Sherlock said.  
“I can put maximum surveillance on her.” Mycroft offered.  
“Why bother? You can follow her on Twitter. I believe her username is TheWhipHand.” Sherlock said, returning to his paper.  
“Yes, most amusing.” Mycroft said, when his own phone rang and he stepped out into the hall to answer it. “Excuse me. Hello?”  
“Why does your phone make that noise?” You asked.  
“What noise?” He asked.  
“That noise, the one it just made.” You said.  
“It’s a text alert, it means I’ve got a text.” He answered.  
“Your texts don’t usually make that noise.” You said.  
“Well, somebody got hold of the phone and apparently as a joke, personalised their text alert noise.” Sherlock said, reading his paper.  
“So every time they text you…” You said, before the phone made the sound again.  
“It would seem so.” Sherlock said.  
“Could you turn that phone down a bit? At my time of life it’s…” Mrs. Hudson scolded.  
“See, I’m wondering who could have gotten ahold of your phone because it would have been in your coat, wouldn’t it?” You teased as Sherlock raised his paper so you couldn’t see his face.  
“I’ll leave you to your deductions.” Sherlock said, as Mycroft returned to the room.  
“Bond Air is go, that’s decided. Check with the Coventry lot. Talk later.” Mycroft said, hanging up the phone. You raised an eyebrow curiously as to what he had just said.  
“What else does she have?” Sherlock asked Mycroft. “The Americans wouldn’t be interested in her for a couple of compromising photographs. There’s more, much more. Something big’s coming, isn’t it?”  
“Irene Adler is no longer any concern of yours. From now on, you will stay out of this.” Mycroft instructed Sherlock, who was now standing in front of him.  
“Oh, will I?” He asked.  
“Yes, Sherlock. You will.” He said. Sherlock moved and picked up his violin.  
“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a long and arduous apology to make to a very old friend.” Mycroft said.  
“Do give her my love.” Sherlock said, as he began playing God Save the Queen on his violin. You smiled and watch Mycroft exit the flat.


	30. Chapter 30

A few months had passed with nothing going on. You had returned to work and still not figured out why your uncle was here. You assumed Mycroft had deduced why you hated him so much, but you hadn’t told Sherlock. You didn’t plan on telling him either.  
It was now Christmas time and Sherlock and John had thrown a party, with the help of Mrs. Hudson of course. Greg came and John brought his current girlfriend who you didn’t remember the name of. You wore a tasteful knee length red dress and Sherlock was in his usual suit. Mrs. Hudson was enjoying herself and taking pictures of everyone. She had taken the best picture of you and Sherlock, who was wearing antlers and actually smiling.  
Sherlock was now playing We Wish You a Merry Christmas on his violin. Outside there was snow on the ground and inside you had helped Mrs. Hudson hang some lights.  
“Lovely, Sherlock. That was lovely.” Mrs. Hudson said when he was done playing.  
“Mm, marvelous.” John said as he brought his girlfriend a drink.  
“That was very good.” Greg said, he thanked you as you handed him a beer.  
“I wish you could have worn the antlers.” You laughed.  
“Some things are best left to the imagination, Y/N.” He smirked as he put his violin down and wrapped his arm around your waist, placing a kiss on your lips. You both turned to the door where Molly was just entering.  
“Oh, dear Lord.” Sherlock whispered to you and you giggled.  
Molly had on bright red lipstick and large sparkly hoop earrings. In her hands she had two big bags of presents.  
“Hello, everyone. Sorry, hello. Uh, it said on the door just come up.” She said.  
“Hello, Molly.” Everyone said.  
“Everybody saying hello to each other, how wonderful!” Sherlock said sarcastically.  
“Be nice, or I’m not spending the night.” You teased.  
“That’s not fair.” Sherlock said, you raised your shoulders.  
“Guess you’ll have to be nice then.” you said.  
“But being nice is hard.” Sherlock said.  
“Then that will be the only thing that’s hard tonight.” you teased and laughed at yourself.  
You looked up to Molly who was taking her coat off to reveal a long black dress with sparkly beading across the top. She clearly was wearing a push up bra and trying to impress someone.  
“So we’re having a Christmas drinkies, then?” She asked, smiling.  
“No stopping them, apparently.” Sherlock said, sitting down at this desk as you leaned against the front of it.  
“It’s the one day of the year where the boys have to be nice to me so it’s almost worth it.” Mrs. Hudson said and everyone laughed.  
“John the counter on your blog it still says 1,895.” Sherlock said to John as Greg asked Molly if she wanted a drink.  
“Oh, no, Christmas is cancelled!” John said sarcastically.  
“And you’ve got a photograph of me wearing that hat!” Sherlock said, pointing at a picture of you and him taken from a crime scene.  
“People like the hat.” John said, walking away.  
“No, they don’t. What people?” Me muttered to himself.  
“How’s the hip?” Molly asked Mrs. Hudson.  
“Oh, it’s atrocious, but thanks for asking.” Mrs. Hudson said smiling.  
“I’ve seen much worse, but then I do post-mortems. Oh, God, sorry.” Molly said.  
“Don’t make jokes, Molly.” Sherlock said, and you looked back to him with a ‘be nice’ face.  
“Thank you.” Molly said as Greg handed her a glass of wine. “I wasn’t expecting to see you. I thought you were going to be in Dorset for Christmas.”  
“That’s first thing in the morning, me and the wife, we’re back together, it’s all sorted.” Greg said with a smile.  
“No, she’s sleeping with a PE teacher.” Sherlock said.  
You turned around to him. “That wasn’t nice.” You fake frowned.  
“Oh, I’m sorry, how can I make it up to you?” Sherlock whispered. You turned around and crossed your arms over your chest.  
“I’m sure I can think of something.” You smirked.  
“And John, I hear you’re off to your sister’s is that right?” Molly asked.  
“Yeah.” John answered.  
“Sherlock was complaining. Saying.” she corrected herself.  
“First time ever, she’s cleaned-up her act, she’s off the booze.” John said.  
“Nope.” Sherlock said.  
“Shut up, Sherlock!” John said.  
“Take a day off.” You pleaded.  
You saw Sherlock eyeing a present on the mantle, after his phone made that God awful noise but thankfully everyone was talking and no one heard it. He stood, took it in his hand and began walking back to his bedroom.  
“Excuse me.” He said, leaving the room. You and John shared a suspicious look. He silently motioned for you to go check on him. You nodded and walked over to his bedroom door that was slightly open.  
“You okay?” You asked from the doorway. He was sitting on his bed opening the box which seemed to hold a phone. Last time he was sent a phone it was Moriarty and you grew worried.  
“Yes.” He said, closing the door on you. You turned back to John who had witnessed the whole thing.  
After a few minutes Molly got called into work and Sherlock soon left afterwards. You tried asking where he was going but he didn’t answer. Mycroft texted you letting you know that Irene Adler’s body was found and Sherlock was coming to identify it. He also asked you to search his room for any drugs.  
After about an hour you got a phone call from him.  
“He’s on his way. Have you found anything?” Mycroft asked you.  
“No. Did he take the cigarette?” You asked. Mycroft had planned to offer him one and knew if he took it that something was wrong.  
“Yes.” Mycroft answered, disappointingly.  
“Shit.” You muttered. “It looks like he’s clean. We’ve tried all the usual places. I don’t know why this case has had such an affect on him. Are you sure tonight’s a danger night?” You asked.  
“No, but then I never am. You have to stay with him, Y/N.” Mycroft said.  
“Alright.” You agreed.  
John had left with his girlfriend who you found out her name was Jeanette. Greg also left so he could pack for his trip tomorrow. Mrs. Hudson had gone back down to her room. You were sitting on the couch, nearly asleep, when Sherlock came back up the stairs.  
“Oh, hi.” You said, standing up.  
“I hope you didn’t mess up my sock index this time.” Sherlock said rudely, but you let it go with a sigh.  
After a couple minutes of sitting in the living room alone, thinking Sherlock wanted some space, you heard him call out to you.  
“Are you coming to bed or not?” He asked.  
You got up and slowly shuffled into the bedroom, where Sherlock was already in the bed. You crawled in next to him and soon felt his arm wrap around your waist.  
“I’m sorry I yelled at you.” Sherlock said in a sleepy voice.  
“It’s okay, Sherlock.” you said as you nuzzled into his side.  
“Oh! I almost forgot your gift.” Sherlock said, suddenly jumping out of his bed and rushing to his dresser.  
“My gift?” you asked, surprised.  
“Well it is Christmas, you didn’t think I wouldn’t get you a gift did you? After all, you did get me a quite perfect gift actually.” Sherlock said, and you smiled. You noticed how much of a mess he would make with all his sheet music and paper when he was composing, so you had gotten him a leather composing book engraved with his name. It was full of new paper for his brilliant works, and a storage space for his old ones that usually litter the floor or the desk.  
“Here,” He said, handing you a box. “I saw it and I thought of how perfect it would look on you.”  
You took the neatly wrapped box and began slowly peeling away the paper. It was nice to know that Sherlock thought about you.  
You finally removed the paper, only to see a dark blue box with a gold HW on it. Your breath caught in your throat.  
“Sherlock… this isn’t?” You asked, looking up to him. He was smiling like a fool.  
“Go on, open it.” He smiled.  
You pried open the blue box, only to reveal the most beautiful diamond necklace you have ever seen in your life. You slapped your hand over your mouth in shock.  
“Sherlock! This is a Harry Winston necklace! It must have cost you thousands, I can’t accept this!” You cried.  
“You can, and you will.” He said, slipping the necklace onto you. “Besides, Mr. Winston owed me a favor.”  
“What did you do for him? Get him of a murder charge, find a diamond thief, uncover the truth of some huge scandal?” You smirked, as Sherlock slipped the necklace onto you.  
“Something like that.” He smirked.  
“I love you, and I don’t deserve you.” You smiled, hugging him.  
“Oh no, I think I’m the one that doesn’t deserve you.” He kissed you.  
“Mr. Holmes, I think you’re very wrong.” You whispered.  
“Mr. Holmes huh? I like that.” He smirked.  
“That’s not all you’re going to like tonight.” You smirked, straddling Sherlock and pressing your lips to his.  
You soon fell asleep after a few rounds of bliss and in the morning you woke up to Sherlock playing the violin. You crawled out of bed and walked out into the kitchen where Mrs. Hudson and John were.  
“Lovely tune, Sherlock. Haven’t heard that one before.” Mrs. Hudson said.  
“You’re composing?” John asked Sherlock.  
“Helps me to think.” Sherlock said.  
“Good morning, dear.” Mrs. Hudson said to you.  
“Morning.” You smiled. Sherlock looked back to you and started playing again.  
“What are you thinking about?” You asked him curiously as you walked into the living room.  
“The count on John’s blog is still stuck at 1,895.” He said, pointing to the computer.  
“Yes. Faulty, can’t seem to fix it.” John said.  
“Faulty or you’ve been hacked and it’s a message.” Sherlock said, pulling out a phone and typing in 1895, looking displeased when it didn’t unlock.  
“Is that the camera phone from the safe?” You asked. You looked over his shoulder and the screen said ‘I am locked.” But the spot for the code was in the middle of am and locked. He didn’t answer you, instead he began playing the violin again.  
John announced that he was going out and Sherlock didn’t seem to take any notice when he left. Sherlock seemed busy with his composing so you decided to leave too, not that he would noticed. You went to your flat and changed before leaving to go on a walk. When you stepped outside of your flat there was a woman in all black who looked like one of Mycroft’s assistants.  
“Y/N.” She called out as a black car pulled up.  
“Of course, God, if Mycroft didn’t have this bloody stupid power complex.” You said getting in the back of the car. It took you to some kind of abandoned factory.  
“Couldn’t we just go to a cafe? Sherlock doesn’t follow me everywhere.” You said as you followed her into the building.  
“Through there.” She said, pointing to a door with light coming out of it.  
“Mycroft, for once in your life can you drop the dramatics and just talk on the phone like a normal person.” You said walking into the room, your heels clicking on the cement.  
“But then again, you’re not normal, neither of you are.” you said, turning around, looking at the room. You could have sworn you heard heels clicking when your feet weren’t moving. You quickly turned around to see Irene Adler, dressed in all black.  
“Hello, Sergeant Gregson.” She said, walking closer to you.  
“Tell him you’re alive.” You said.  
“He’d come after me.” She said, and he would at least for some sort of closure. He hasn’t been the same since he thought she died, possibly for the fact that he felt bad for her. That she didn’t deserve to be hunted down just for her work. Or he was desperate for the answer to her password and needed to know.  
“I’ll come after you if you don’t.” you said.  
“Hmm, I’ll let you. Love your shoes by the way.” She said, you looked down to your shoes. They were simple red pumps, though you thought it strange she complimented you every time you met her, and it didn’t seem her personality to do so.  
“You were dead on a slab.” You yelled. “It was definitely you.”  
“DNA tests are only as good as the records you keep.” Irene said cooly.  
“I’m gonna bet you know the record keeper. Or better yet, you know what he likes.” You retorted.  
“I needed to disappear.” She explained.  
“Then how come I can see you and I don’t even want to?” You asked.  
“Look I made a mistake. I sent something to Sherlock for safekeeping and now I need it back, so I need your help.” She said.  
“No.” You said, immediately.  
“It’s for his own safety.” She said. “And maybe yours… How did you know that CIA man that tried to kill us? Family? See I’ve done a bit of my own research into you Sergeant. So your uncle, the man that tried to kill us, this isn’t the first time he did something like this. He used to beat you unconscious. Was that before or after he would rape you?” She asked, making it seem like a joke. Making it seem like what happened to you could be used as leverage, you weren’t about to let that happen.  
“Stop!” You cried out, a tear escaping and sliding down your cheek. “Fine, I’ll tell him you’re alive and I still won’t help you.”  
“What do I say?” She asked as you were about to leave.  
“What do you normally say? You’ve text him a lot!” You yelled back.  
“Just the usual stuff.” She said casually.  
“There is no usual in this case.” You said.  
“Good morning. I like your funny hat. I’m sad tonight, let’s have dinner. You look sexy on Crimewatch let’s have dinner.” She read off from her phone.  
“You flirted with Sherlock Holmes?” You asked, jealously.  
“At him. He never replies.” She said.  
“Well I should hope not!” you retorted.  
“Are you jealous?” She asks.  
“We’re not a couple.” You said, you weren’t really sure what to call you and Sherlock, you didn’t think he was one for titles.  
“No, you just solve crimes together and have sex. Yes you are.” She said, typing into her phone.  
“There…’I’m not dead, let’s have dinner’.” She said, sending the text.  
“Why would you want to have dinner with him anyway, you’re…” you said, not finishing the sentence.  
“Gay? I am, I have my reasons though.” She said.  
Suddenly you heard an electronic moan coming from somewhere inside the room. Sherlock was here. Oh God, how long had he been here? Had he heard about what your uncle did to you? You didn’t want him to find out, you didn’t want him to think any differently of you.  
You moved to follow the sound but Irene grabbed your arm, stopping you.  
“I don’t think so, do you?” she said, and she was right. Sherlock needed some space.


	31. Chapter 31

When you left the abandoned factory you went immediately to Baker Street. You needed to know how much Sherlock had heard. When you got to the door there was a piece of paper slipped under the knocker. It read’ Crime in progress. Please disturb’. You pushed the door open and rushed up the stairs.  
“What’s going on?” You asked as you walked in the door. You turned your head and saw your uncle Ryan tied to a chair with duct tape over his mouth and blood on his face.  
“Mrs. Hudson’s been attacked by an American, I’m restoring balance to the universe.” Sherlock said, probably not realising that you too were an American. Sherlock was on the phone and pointing a gun at your uncle. You rushed to Mrs. Hudson who was sitting on the couch. You noticed a cut on her cheek where she was clearly punched.  
“Are you alright?” you asked, hugging her as she cried.  
“This is a new low, even for you.” You growled at your uncle.  
“Take her downstairs and look after her.” Sherlock instructed you. You got up began walking through the door.  
“Sherlock um, what Irene said…” You began.  
“That’s not something I really want to talk about right now Y/N because if we do I will murder this man.” Sherlock said, standing above your uncle still pointing the gun at him. You only nodded and followed Mrs. Hudson downstairs.  
You got some disinfectant on a cotton ball and began lightly dabbing it on Mrs. Hudson’s cut.  
“Oh, it stings.” She whispered. There was a sudden crash outside of the window.  
“Oh, that was right on my bins.” Mrs. Hudson said, Sherlock had thrown your uncle out of the window.  
Later Lestrade showed up and an ambulance took your uncle away.  
“Exactly how many times did he fall out of the window?” you heard Lestrade ask Sherlock.  
“It’s all a bit of a blur Detective Inspector. I lost count.” Sherlock said. “Trust me, you would have done the same thing knowing what I know.”  
You followed Mrs. Hudson back into the kitchen of her flat where John was now. John was insisting that she needed to stay in their flat so he could keep an eye on her, while she and Sherlock insisted she was fine.  
“She’s got to take some time away from Baker Street. She can go stay with her sister. Doctor’s orders.” John said as Sherlock rummaged through her fridge.  
“Don’t be absurd.” Sherlock said, eating a stolen biscuit.  
“She’s in shock, for God’s sake, all over some bloody stupid camera-phone.” John said.  
“Where is it, anyway?” You asked.  
“Safest place I know.” Sherlock said casually, looking to Mrs. Hudson.  
“You left it in the pocket of your second-best dressing gown, you clot!” Mrs. Hudson said, pulling it out of her shirt. “I managed to sneak it out when they thought I was having a cry.”  
“Thank you.” Sherlock said. “Shame on you, John Watson.”  
“Shame on me?” John asked confused.  
“Mrs. Hudson leave Baker Street? England would fall.” Sherlock said, as he hugged Mrs. Hudson who was now laughing. You followed Sherlock and John up to their flat for a drink.  
“Whatever’s on that phone is more than just pictures.” John said, handing you a drink.  
“Yes, it is.” Sherlock said, picking up his violin. You heard a clock tolling outside, signaling midnight.  
“Happy New Year.” Sherlock said, giving you a quick kiss before he began to play Auld Lang Syne on his violin.  
That night you decided to return home, sensing Sherlock might need some space. You wished Mrs. Astor a Happy New Year and began up the stairs to your flat. You showered, slipped into some pajamas and crawled into the cold bed. After about two hours of sleep you woke up to the sound of your name. Your eyes fluttered open to see Sherlock sitting on the bed next to you.  
“Sherlock?” You asked in a groggy voice.  
“Sorry, I couldn’t sleep. I need to know the truth, Y/N. I’ve been running scenarios through my head all night. I hate not knowing, but more than that I hate the thought of you in pain.” Sherlock said.  
“You want me to tell you about Ryan?” You asked quietly. Sherlock nodded. You sat up so your back was against the headboard, Sherlock moved so he was the same.  
“Um, ok well I told you before that we lived in Manhattan. My dad was always working so he wasn’t really around much. My uncle at the time worked in the New York FBI office. When I was about 15 or 16 I was home alone a lot. Angelica was already in college and Charles played sports so he was always home late. Back then my mother still worked, she was a dress designer so she was at her studio a lot. When she was busy she would ask her brother to pick me up from school sometimes if he was free. Conveniently he always was. Some of the most poisonous people come disguised as friends and family. He would bring me home and when he realized no one else was there that was when he would do it.” You began, tears threatening to spill.  
“I should have killed him when I had the chance.” Sherlock said angrily.  
“It wouldn’t have changed anything, Sherlock. It wouldn’t undo anything he did, nothing could.” You said.  
“Did you ever tell anyone?” He asked.  
“I tried, once I almost told my brother. I came home crying and I didn’t know Charles was home, he hugged me, asked me what was wrong. Right before I told him, my uncle walked in the door, most likely looking for me. He knew I was about to tell him, he made up some lie that he was looking for our mom or something, knowing she wouldn’t be home for a few more hours. Next time I saw him he had just ran over my dog, making sure I wouldn’t try to tell anyone again.” You said.  
“What about going to the police?” Sherlock asked.  
“By then he was so well respected in the Bureau that they would have never believed me. I was a kid, he was top candidate for Director of the FBI. Besides in America, girls hardly ever win rape cases. If you tell someone you were raped they say one of two things. What were you wearing, or you were asking for it.” You explained.  
“I’m so sorry, Y/N.” Sherlock said.  
“It’s over now Sherlock, it’s been over for a while. I’m okay, it’s been over ten years since it happened.” You said, growing tired. You looked at the clock, 2:50.  
“How did Irene Adler know? Who else knows?” Sherlock asked.  
“I don’t know. I’ve never told anyone before now. I think Mycroft deduced it when I asked him…” You began before Sherlock cut you off.  
“You asked Mycroft to do what?” He asked, concerned.  
“When we were at my mother’s house, I called Mycroft and asked him to pull up any dirt he could on him. He knew off the top of his head that he’s been a double agent working for the Russian government for years now. But Mycroft would never tell anyone, I don’t know who Irene is getting her intel from. Someone capable of finding out secrets like that is not someone I want to piss off.” You said. Sherlock only nodded, clearly thinking himself.  
“Sherlock, can I ask you something?” You asked, he was pulled from his train of thought and turned to face you, mumbling a yes.  
“When you first pulled that camera phone out of the box did you think it could be Moriarty? I mean he’s done it before.” You said.  
“I think it was just a coincidence.” Sherlock said.  
“We’re detectives, we don’t believe in coincidence.” You smiled, laying your head back on your pillow.  
Sherlock began to stand, preparing to leave.  
“You can stay you know?” You smiled. He turned around with a smile on his face.  
“I’d want nothing more.” He smiled as he snuggled into the bed next to you, wrapping an arm around you and pulling you into his chest.


	32. Chapter 32

A week passed and you went back to work. You could tell Lestrade was still curious about what was going on with Sherlock and what had happened at Irene Adler’s house. One morning you were off work and you got a call from Mrs. Hudson asking you to help her grocery shopping since she was shopping for Sherlock and John too. You met her at the store and when you got back to Baker Street you walked up the stairs to the flat, bags in hand.  
“Morning.” you said, putting the bags in the kitchen.  
You turned your head to the living room. You saw Sherlock sitting where clients usually sit, John was at his desk, and Irene Adler was sitting in Sherlock’s black chair.  
“Ah just who I was hoping would show up, hello Sergeant Gregson.” Irene said.  
“Miss Adler.” You nodded, while placing all the bags on the counter.  
“Where’s my camera-phone?” Irene asked.  
“It’s not here. We’re not stupid.” John said.  
“Then what have you done with it? If they’ve guessed you’ve got it, they’ll be watching you.” Irene said.  
“If they’ve been watching me, they’ll know that I took a safety deposit box at a bank on the Strand.” Sherlock lied.  
“I need it.” Irene said as you took a seat in John’s chair.  
“Molly Hooper, she could collect it, and take it to Barts. Then one of your homeless network could bring it here, leave it in the cafe and one of the boys downstairs could bring it up the back.” John offered.  
“Very good, John, excellent plan, full of intelligent precautions.” Sherlock said.  
“Thank you, so why don’t I phone…” John began but let out an annoyed sigh when Sherlock pulled the camera phone out of his pocket.  
“So, what do you keep on here? In general, I mean?” Sherlock asked Irene.  
“Pictures, information, anything I might find useful.” Irene said.  
“For blackmail?” You asked.  
“For protection.” She said and you rolled your eyes. “I make my way in the world, I misbehave. I like to know people will be on my side exactly when I need them to be.”  
“So how do you acquire this information?” Sherlock asked her.  
“I told you, I misbehave.” Irene said.  
“But you’ve acquired something more danger than protection. Do you know what it is?” You asked Irene.  
“Yes. But I don’t understand it.” Irene said.  
“Show me.” Sherlock said. She stuck out her hand for the phone.  
“The passcode.” Sherlock said, refusing to give it to her. She extended her hand further, Sherlock gave in and placed the phone in her hand. She smiled and typed the passcode in, beeping loudly when it was incorrect.  
“It’s not working.” Irene said, confused.  
“No, because it’s a duplicate which I had made into which you’ve just entered the numbers 1058.” Sherlock said, taking the phone out of her hand. “I assumed you’d chose something more specific than that but thanks anyway.”  
Sherlock walked towards you, sticking his hand out for you to take it. You did, confused, and he pulled you effortlessly to your feet. He then stuck his hand under the seat cushion of John’s chair and retrieved the real camera phone. He placed a kiss on your cheek as he ushered you back into your chair.  
He typed 1058 into the real camera phone but it still said it was incorrect.  
“I told you that camera phone was my life. I know when it’s in my hand.” Irene said.  
“Oh, you’re rather good.” Sherlock complemented her.  
“You’re not so bad.” She returned.  
“Hamish.” John suddenly said, to fill the awkward silence in the room while Irene and Sherlock were having a stare down. “John Hamish Watson, just if you were looking for baby names.”  
You laughed as John sat back in his seat.  
“There was a man, an MOD official and I knew what he liked. One of the things he liked was showing off. He told me this email was going to save the world. He didn’t know it, but I photographed it. He was a bit tied up at the time.” Irene said. You shared a look with John. Irene handed the phone to Sherlock so he could read the email.  
“It’s a bit small on that screen, can you read it?” Irene asked.  
“Yes.” sherlock answered.  
“Code, obviously.” Irene said again. “I had one of the best cryptographers in the country take a look at it, though he was mostly upside-down, as I recall. Couldn’t figure it out.”  
You stood from your chair and moved so you were standing next to John at his desk. You placed your hand on it and stared at Sherlock who was now sitting across from you.  
“What can you do, Mr. Holmes?” Irene asked.  
“There’s a margin for error, but I’m pretty sure there’s a 747 leaving Heathrow tomorrow at 6:30 in the evening for Baltimore. Apparently it’s going to save the world, I’m not sure how that could be true, but give me a moment, I’ve only been on the case for eight seconds.” Sherlock said, everyone staring at him. Was he trying to show off?  
“Oh come on, it’s not code. These are seat allocations on a passenger jet. Look! There’s no letter I because it can be mistaken for a one. No letters past K, the width of the plane is the limit. The numbers always appear randomly and not in sequence, but the letters have little runs of sequence all over the place. Families and couples sitting together. Only a jumbo is wide enough to need a letter K or rows past 55, which is why there’s always an upstairs. There’s a row 13 which eliminated the more superstitious airlines. Then there’s the style of the flight number, 007, that eliminates a few more. And assuming the British point of origin, which would be logical, considering the original source of the information and assuming from the increased pressure on you lately that the crisis is imminent, the only flight that matches all the criteria and departs within the week is the 6:30 to Baltimore tomorrow evening from Heathrow airport.” Sherlock said with record speed. He turned and handed the phone back to Irene.  
“Please don’t feel obliged to tell me that was remarkable or amazing. John’s expressed that thought in every possible variant available to the English language.” Sherlock said.  
“I would have you right here, on this desk, until you begged for mercy twice.” Irene said to Sherlock, causing John to nearly choke on his tea.  
“John, please could you check those flight schedules to see if I’m right?” Sherlock said.  
“Yeah, I’m on it, yeah.” John said awkwardly.  
“I’ve never begged for mercy in my life.” Sherlock said.  
“I beg to differ.” You said with a smirk, John turned to you, eyes wide, before returning back to the computer. Irene bit her lip and turned to you, looking you up and down. You raised an eyebrow to her.  
“Uh, you’re right, flight double-O seven.” John said.  
“What did you say?” Sherlock asked again.  
“You’re right.” John repeated.  
“No, no, after that, what did you say after that?” Sherlock said.  
“007. Flight 007.” John repeated. Sherlock frantically began trying to remember where he had heard that before. The thought popped into your head. Bond Air is go. Mycroft was on the phone here weeks ago and said, Bond Air is go, check with the coventry lot. James Bond was MI6 agent 007.  
Sherlock kept repeating 007 and mumbling as he walked into the hallway, you followed him, leaving John and Irene in the living room.  
“Bond Air is go.” You said to him, once you were in the hallway. Sherlock turned to you, eyes wide.  
“That’s it, quickly, tell me, where have I heard that.” Sherlock said, unknowingly pushing you against the wall.  
“Mycroft, right here, he was on the phone and he said’ Bond Air is go, that’s decided. Check with the coventry lot.’” You told him.  
“Yes, that’s it!” Sherlock said, kissing you. “God, I love you.” He said casually, your eye’s grew wide and your mouth fell open as Sherlock walked back into the living room. He had never said those words before. He’d said variations, which were all great, but he’d never said those three words.  
Sherlock was now sitting in his chair, in his mind palace, stroking his violin. A few hours had passed.You and John left to grab some food, leaving Sherlock in his mind palace. When Sherlock goes into his mind palace, it’s best to just leave. He doesn’t speak, he doesn’t move, he hardly breathes. So when he opened his eyes and said the word “Coventry”, he was surprised to see Irene Adler sitting in front of him and not yourself.  
“I’ve never been.” Irene answered, sitting opposite of him in John’s chair. “Is it nice?”  
“Where’s John and Y/N?” He asked confused.  
“They went out, a couple of hours ago.” She answered.  
“I was just talking to them.” He said.  
“They said you do that.” Irene said.  
“What’s Coventry got to do with anything?” She asked.  
“It’s a story. Probable not true. In the Second World War the Allies knew that Coventry was going to get bombed because they’d broken the German code but they didn’t want the Germans to know that they’d broken the code so they let it happen anyway.” sherlock explained.  
“Have you ever had anyone?” She asked.  
“I’m sorry?” Sherlock asked, confused.  
“And when I say had, I’m being indelicate.” She said again.  
“I don’t understand.” sherlock said.  
“I’ll be delicate, then. Let’s have dinner.” She said as she moved to kneel in front of him, placing her hand over his.  
“Why?” He asked.  
“You might be hungry.” She said.  
“I’m not.” He said.  
“Good.” Irene smiled.  
“Why would I want to have dinner if I wasn’t hungry?” Sherlock asked, shifting his hand so he was holding her wrist, little did she know, he was taking her pulse.  
“If it was the end of the world, if this was the very last night, would you have dinner with me?” She asked.  
“Sherlock?” Mrs. Hudson called from down the stairs.  
“Too late.” Irene said, moving back.  
“That’s not the end of the world, that’s Mrs. Hudson.” Sherlock said.  
“Sherlock, this man was at the door. Is the bell still not working? He shot it.” Mrs. Hudson told the same man that came to take him away to Buckingham Palace a few weeks ago.  
“Have you come to take me away again?” Sherlock asked.  
“Yes, Mr. Holmes.” The secret service man told him.  
“Well, I decline.” Sherlock said.  
“I don’t think you do.” He said, handing Sherlock as plane ticket for flight 007.  
After a quick bite with John, you went back to your flat to change into a dress before going to find Mycroft, hoping he was at his office. You didn’t trust this Irene Adler woman and you didn’t like the thought of her knowing this top secret information. She was mildly intelligent, but not intelligent enough to be working on her own. You were afraid of a partnership with someone bad, possibly even James Moriarty.  
You found Mycroft in his office, with his head in his hands.  
“Y/N?” He asked, when he noticed you entered the room.  
“Irene Adler is back. She’d stolen an email from some MOD man who hired her. It was seat allocations for flight 007. ‘Bond Air’?” You asked him.  
Mycroft only sighed and slid his phone across the table to you. On the screen was a text from James Moriarty. It read- JUMBO JET. DEAR ME, MR. HOLMES, DEAR ME. You shook your head in disbelief. You were right, Irene Adler had given the information Sherlock so willingly gave her to James Moriarty.  
“Will you come with me?” Mycroft asked. You nodded. Together you got in a car that took you to Heathrow airport. When you were in the car, he told you the same Coventry story that unbeknownst to you, Sherlock had also told Irene.  
When you arrived at the airport the car was driven right to the back where you and Mycroft stepped onto Flight 007. Inside, the lights were off, but the flight was completely full. You bent down to look at one person, and stumbled back slightly when you discovered they were all dead. A few minutes passed and you heard one of the dividers slide open. You followed Mycroft out to the sound.  
“The Coventry conundrum. What do you think of my solution? The flight of the dead.” Mycroft asked Sherlock, making him jump a bit when he stepped out. You stepped out next to him in the wide aisle. Sherlock gave you a confused look, you only looked away.  
“Plane blows up mid air, mission accomplished for the terrorists, hundreds of casualties but nobody dies.” Sherlock said.  
“Neat, don’t you think?” Mycroft asked.”You two have been stumbling around the fringes of this one for ages. Or were you too bored to notice the pattern. We ran a similar project with the Germans a while back, though I believe one of our passengers didn’t make the flight.”  
You remembered that case. You found a body in the trunk of a car that was technically already checked on the plane, a plane which had already crashed a day before, thousands of miles away.  
“But that’s the deceased for you, late, in every sense of the word.” Mycroft said.  
“How’s the plane going to fly. Oh, of course, unmanned aircraft, hardly new.” Sherlock said.  
“It doesn’t fly. It will never fly.” You said, disappointedly. Sherlock looked to you confused.  
“This entire project is cancelled. The terrorist cells have been informed that we know about the bomb. We can’t fool them now. We’ve lost everything.” Mycroft explained.  
“Were you in on this too?” Sherlock asked you.  
“No, you idiot, she was trying to do the right thing. One fragment of one email and months and years of planning, finished.” Mycroft said.  
“Your MOD man.” Sherlock said, nodding.  
“That’s all it takes. One lonely, naive man, desperate to show off, and a woman clever enough to make him feel special.” Mycroft said, Sherlock assumed he was talking about the MOD man.  
“You should screen your defence people more carefully.” Sherlock said, casually.  
“I’m not talking about the MOD man, Sherlock! I’m talking about you!” Mycroft yelled. “A damsel in distress. In the end, are you really so obvious? Because this was textbook. The promise of love, the pain of loss, the joy of redemption. Then give him a puzzle and watch him dance.”  
“Don’t be absurd!” Sherlock shot back.  
“Absurd? How quickly did you decipher that email for her? Was it the full minute? Or were you really eager to impress?” Mycroft asked.  
“I’d say it was less than five seconds.” Irene Adler said, now appearing behind Sherlock.  
“I drove you into her path. I’m sorry. I didn’t know.” Mycroft said.  
“Mr. Holmes, I think we need to talk.” Irene said.  
“So do I. There are a number of aspects I’m still not quite clear on.” Sherlock said.  
“Not you, junior, you’re done now.” Irene said, walking past Sherlock. You began walking towards Sherlock, passing Irene in the middle of the aisle, giving her your best death stare.  
“There’s more, loads more. On this phone I’ve got secrets and pictures and scandals that could topple your whole world. You have no idea how much havoc I can cause and exactly one way to stop me. Unless you want to tell your masters that your biggest security leak is your own little brother.” Irene said, and you saw fear flash across Mycroft’s eye.  
“What are you doing here?” Sherlock asked you, now standing in front of him.  
“I tried to do the right thing, but I was too late. She was using you. When she’d gotten what she wanted, she gave the information to James Moriarty.” You said, looking down to the floor.


	33. Chapter 33

The four of you sat in the same office you had found Mycroft in earlier. Mycroft was sitting across from Irene Adler at the table, while you and Sherlock were sitting in chairs in front of the fire.  
“We have people who can get into this.” Mycroft said, tapping the phone.  
“I tested that theory for you. I let Sherlock Holmes try it for two months. Sherlock, dear, tell him what you found when you x-rayed my camera-phone.” Irene said. Had two months really passed? It seemed to go by in a blink.  
“There are four additional units wired inside the casing. I suspect containing acid or a small amount of explosive. Any attempt to open the casing will burn the hard drive.” Sherlock said.  
“Explosive. It’s more me.” Irene said with a smirk.  
“Some data is always recoverable.” Mycroft said.  
“Take that risk.” Irene said.  
“You have a passcode to open this. I deeply regret to say we have people who can extract it from you.” Mycroft said.  
“Let’s let Y/N have a go at this one.” Irene said.  
“There will be two passcodes, one to open the phone, one to burn the drive. Even under duress, you can’t know which one she’s given you and there will be no point in a second attempt.” You said, scowling at her. You heard Mycroft sigh.  
“So smart aren’t they? I should have them on a leash. In fact I might.” Irene said. You looked back to her and rolled your eyes.  
“We destroy this, then. No one has the information.” Mycroft suggested.  
“Fine. Good idea. Unless there are lives of British citizens depending on the information you’re about to burn.” Irene said.  
“Are there?” Mycroft asked.  
“Telling you would be playing fair. I’m not playing any more.” Irene said, you wanted nothing more than to punch her in the face right now.  
“A list of my requests, and some ideas about my protection once they’re granted.” Irene said, sliding an envelope over to Mycroft.  
“I’d say it wouldn’t blow much of a hole in the wealth of a nation, but then I’d be lying.” Irene said, and judging by the look on Mycroft’s face you didn’t think she was lying.  
“I’d imagine you want to sleep on it?” Irene said.  
“Thank you, yes.” Mycroft said, still reading the list.  
“Too bad. Off you pop and talk to people.” Irene said, now you really wanted to punch her.  
Mycroft sighed and sat back in his chair.  
“You’ve been very thorough. I wish our lot were half as good as you.” Mycroft said.  
“I can’t take all the credit, I had a bit of help. Oh, Jim Moriarty sends his love.” Irene said, his name send shivers down your spine. It clearly had an effect on Sherlock as well, his eyes widened at the sound of it.  
“Yes, he’s been in touch. Seems desperate for my attention, which I’m sure can be arranged.” Mycroft said.  
“I had all this stuff, never knew what to do with it. Thank God for the consultant criminal.” Irene said, now sitting on the edge of the table. “Gave me a lot of advice about how to play the Holmes boys. Do you know what he calls you? The IceMan, and the Virgin, though I suppose he’s going to have to think of a new one for you. He didn’t even ask for anything, I think he just likes to cause trouble. Now, that’s my kind of man.”  
“And here you are, the dominatrix who brought a nation to its knees. Nicely played.” Mycroft said, standing.  
“No.” Sherlock suddenly said, causing everyone to turn to him, confused.  
“Sorry?” Irene asked with a smile.  
“I said no. Very, very close, but no. You got carried away. The game was too elaborate, you were enjoying yourself too much.” Sherlock said, standing and walking towards Irene. You shifted to the end of your seat, curious as to what he was getting at.  
“There’s no such thing as too much.” Irene said.  
“Oh, enjoying the thrill of the chase is fine. Craving the distraction of the game, I sympathise entirely, but sentiment. Sentiment is a chemical defect found in the losing side.” Sherlock said, and you stood in your place, confused.  
“Sentiment? What are you talking about?” Irene asked with a smile.  
“You.” Sherlock answered, simply.  
“Oh, dear God. Look at the poor man. You don’t actually think I was interested in you? Why? Because you’re the great Sherlock Holmes. The clever detective in the funny hat. Careful, you might give Y/N a heart attack.” Irene said, looking to you.  
“No. Because I took your pulse. Elevated. Your pupils dilated. I imagine John Watson thinks love’s a mystery to me, but the chemistry is incredibly simple and very destructive.” sherlock said, taking the camera phone off of the table behind Irene and walking towards you.  
“When we first met you told me that a disguise is always a self portrait. How true of you. The combination to your safe, your measurements, but this, this is far more intimate. This is your heart and you should never let it rule your head.” Sherlock said, as he began to type a password in.  
“You could have chosen any random number and walked out of here today with everything you’ve worked for. But you just couldn’t resist it, could you?” Sherlock said.  
“Everything I said, it’s not real.” Irene said, grabbing his arm, trying to stop him. “I was just playing the game.”  
“I know, and this is just losing.” Sherlock said, typing in the final number. He turned it so Irene could see. When you saw the screen your mouth dropped open, and a tear slipped out of Irene Adler’s eyes.  
I AM SHERLOCKED  
“There you are brother. I hope the contents make up for any inconvenience I may have caused you tonight.” Sherlock said, handing the phone to Mycroft, who was now standing beside you.  
“I’m certain they will.” Mycroft said.  
“If you’re feeling kind, lock her up, otherwise let her go. I doubt she’ll survive long without her “protection”.” Sherlock said.  
“Are you expecting me to beg?” Irene asked with tears in her eyes.  
“Yes.” Sherlock said, walking towards you.  
“Please. You’re right. I won’t even last six months.” Irene said.  
“Sorry about dinner.” Sherlock said as he slipped his arm around your waist and lead you out the door.  
A week later you were walking down to Baker Street in the rain, holding your umbrella high above your head. Outside the door of Speedy’s you saw Mycroft under his umbrella, smoking.  
“You don’t smoke.” You said, once you noticed him.  
“I also don’t frequent cafes.” He said, closing his umbrella and slipping inside, you did the same.  
You sat opposite of him at a table and he slipped a file out of his briefcase.  
“Is that the file on Irene Adler?” You asked.  
“Closed forever.” Mycroft said. “I’m about to go inform my brother, or if you prefer, you are, that she somehow got herself into a Witness Protection scheme in America. New name, new identity. She will survive and thrive, but he will never see her again.”  
“Why would he care? He despised her at the end.” You said.  
“My brother has the brain of a scientist or a philosopher, yet he elects to be a detective. What might we deduce about his heart?” Mycroft asked.  
“I don’t know.” You answered.  
“Neither do I. But initially he wanted to be a pirate.” Mycroft smiled.  
“He’ll be okay with this, Witness Protection, never seeing her again, he’ll be fine.” You said.  
“I agree. That’s why I decided to tell him that.” Mycroft said, you sighed when you understood.  
“She’s dead.” You stated.  
“She was captured by a terrorist cell in Karachi and beheaded.” Mycroft explained.  
“It was definitely her? She’s done this before.” You said.  
“I was thorough this time. It would take Sherlock Holmes to fool me, and I don’t think he was on hand, do you?” Mycroft asked. “So, what should we tell Sherlock?”  
Mycroft pushed the file towards you. Clearly it was best to lie to him in this situation. Sherlock wasn’t one for guilt, but sometimes everyone feels it. If he knew Irene Adler was killed he would feel responsible and you didn’t want that.  
You walked up the stairs to his flat and saw him sitting at the kitchen table, looking through his microscope.  
“Clearly you’ve got news.” Sherlock said as you reached the top of the stairs.  
“Hi, it’s about Irene Adler.” You said.  
“Well?” He asked. “Has something happened, has she come back?”  
“No, no, she’s… I just bumped into Mycroft downstairs, he had to take a call.”  
“Is she back in London?” Sherlock asked.  
“No. She’s in America. Got herself on a Witness Protection scheme, apparently. I don’t know how she swung it.” You said. Sherlock was now standing in front of you.  
“How was your day?” He asked, bending down to kiss you.  
‘Um, fine I guess.” You answered.  
“Want to go to dinner?” He asked.  
“Yeah, sure. I’ve got to run this down to Mycroft though.” You said, still holding the file. He nodded.  
You brought the file down to Mycroft and told him that you had decided to not tell him Irene was dead. You walked back up the stairs, Sherlock was waiting in the doorway.  
“Maybe we can skip dinner and go straight to dessert.” Sherlock said with a smirk. You laughed.  
“You think so?” You smiled.  
“Yeah I do.” He smiled and kissed you. Suddenly he picked you up bridal style and carried you to the bedroom. You giggled when he lifted you. Sherlock was back, your Sherlock was back, and you were loving every minute of it.


	34. Chapter 34

The next few days had began like any other, until you got sick. It started just with vomiting in the mornings and then into the day it progressed into a nice cold. You thought it might have been food poisoning, but it seemed more persistent than that. It seemed to be a bad cold mixed with a stomach bug.  
You called in sick for work and Lestrade told you to stay home until you were symptom free, he couldn’t risk you getting anyone else sick at work.  
You needed to go to a doctor, but you didn’t have a set one here, you had only lived here for about a year, and it had been a very busy year. You called John instead and told him what was happening. He told you he thought it was a cold too, but if you came over to the flat he could check you out and possibly give you some medication.  
You did just that, you walked around the corner to Baker Street, wrapping your coat tightly around you as you walked.  
John looked at you, and confirmed you had a cold and possibly also 24 hour stomach bug that should subside soon. You were sitting on the couch, wrapped in a blanket while John made you some tea. You probably looked terrible, you hadn’t slept well, and you were just sick. Suddenly the door flew open and the sight in front of you almost made you scream.  
Sherlock was standing in the doorway with his white sleeves rolled up, his face and shirt covered in blood, and holding a harpoon.  
“Well, that was tedious.” He said, casually.  
“You went on the tube like that?” John asked him after handing you your tea.  
“None of the cabs would take me.” Sherlock said, now turning to you. “You’re sick.”  
“Obviously.” You shot back.  
“Are you alright? Do you need anything? Lay down, rest. We’ll take care of you.” Sherlock said quickly, rushing to you.  
“Okay mother, calm down.” You smiled. Sherlock left to take a quick shower and change his clothes. He came back out into the living room in his dress pants and white shirt, with his blue dressing robe on, still holding his harpoon. He began pacing in front of the couch, just watching him was making you tired.  
“Anything?” Sherlock asked John, referring to the paper he was reading.  
“Military coup in Uganda. Another photo of you in the er…” John began and pointed to a picture of Sherlock in his favorite deer stalker.  
“Ugh!” Sherlock sighed while still pacing.  
“Well, um, Cabinet reshuffle.”John read.  
“Nothing of importance? Oh, God!” Sherlock yelled, banging his harpoon on the floor. It made you jump slightly.  
“John, I need some. Get me some.” Sherlock said and you scoffed.  
“No.” John said.  
“Get me some.” Sherlock now turning back to face you.  
“Absolutely not.” You said, laying down on the couch.  
“Cold turkey we agreed, no matter what,” John said, pointing his finger at Sherlock. “Anyway, you’ve paid everyone off, remember? No-one within a two-mile radius will sell you any.”  
“Stupid idea. Whose idea was that?” Sherlock asked. John only cleared his throat and didn’t answer.  
“Mrs. Hudson!” Sherlock yelled. He turned to his desk and began throwing papers everywhere. He was rummaging through every drawer looking for cigarettes.  
“Look, Sherlock, you’re doing really well, don’t give up now!” John said to Sherlock, who was still turning the living room upside down.  
“Tell me where they are! Please, tell me.” Sherlock said. His tone changed to almost a puppy dog look “Please.”  
“Can’t help, sorry.” John said, looking to you and rolling his eyes.  
“I’ll let you know next week’s lottery numbers.” Sherlock said, to which John only laughed, “It was worth a try.”  
“You know where the are don’t you, Y/N?” Sherlock turned to you.  
“Of course I know where they are, that doesn’t mean I’m going to tell you.” You said, nuzzling deeper into the couch. Sherlock began eyeing the couch cushions under you, thinking the cigarettes were hiding under there. He took a step closer to you and began to bend down to look.  
“Don’t even think about it. They’re not under there and I’m not moving just so you can check.” You scolded.  
Sherlock groaned and jumped across the room to the fire place. He shook a shoe and threw it behind him when he found it to be empty.  
“Yoo-hoo.” Mrs. Hudson said, walking into the room.  
“My secret supply, what have you done with my secret supply?” Sherlock asked, making a mess.  
“Eh?” She asked confused.  
“Cigarettes, what have you done with them?” Sherlock asked.  
“You know you never let me touch your things! Oh, chance would be a fine thing. Oh hello dear, are you alright?” Mrs.Hudson said, turning to you.  
“She’s sick, we’re keeping an eye on her, well I am, Sherlock is…” John said, gesturing to Sherlock.  
“I thought you weren’t my housekeeper.” Sherlock retorted to Mrs. Hudson.  
“I’m not.” She replied with sass.  
“Argh!” Sherlock yelled, leaving the fire place and returning back to his harpoon. You saw John make a ‘drink’ motion to Mrs. Hudson.  
“How about a nice cuppa and perhaps you could put away your harpoon?” Mrs. Hudson told him.  
“I need something stronger than tea. Seven percent stronger.” Sherlock said, making you worry. Last time he was bored without a case you had found him shooting a wall after he had gotten done shooting up.  
“Sherlock…” You said.  
“You’ve been to see Mr. Chatterjee again.” Sherlock said, now pointing his harpoon to Mrs. Hudson.  
“Pardon?” Mrs. Hudson asked.  
“Sandwich shop. That’s a new dress, but there’s flour on the sleeve. You wouldn’t dress like that for baking. Thumbnail. Tiny traces of foil. Been at the scratch cards again. We all know where that leads don’t we. Mmm. Casbah Nights. Pretty racy for a Monday morning, wouldn’t you agree? I’ve written a little blog on the identification of perfumes.” Sherlock began rambling.  
“I’m sure there’s a crying need for that.” You muttered, Sherlock gave you a dirty look before continuing.  
“It’s on the website. You should look it up. I wouldn’t pin your hopes on that cruise with Mr. Chatterjee, he’s got a wife in Doncaster, that nobody knows about.” Sherlock said.  
“Sherlock!” John yelled.  
“Well, nobody except me.” Sherlock said, was he having a psychotic break?  
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, I really don’t!” Mrs. Hudson said, storming out of the room, slamming the door. Sherlock leapt into his chair, hugging his knees to his chest.  
“What the bloody hell was all that about?” John asked.  
“You don’t understand.” Sherlock said rocking slightly.  
“Go after her and apologise.” John instructed.  
“Apologise?” Sherlock said the word as if he had never heard it before.  
“Mhm.” John nodded.  
“Oh, John, I envy you so much.” Sherlock said.  
“You envy me?” John asked in disbelief.  
“Your mind, it’s so placid, straight-forward, barely used. Mine’s like an engine, racing out of control. A rocket, tearing itself to pieces, trapped on the launch pad. I need a case!” Sherlock yelled.  
“You’ve just solved one, by harpooning a dead pig, apparently!” John yelled back.  
“Ahh! That was this morning. When’s the next one? Y/N, does Gavin have a case?” He asked, both men turning to face you. They hadn’t realized you had fallen asleep. You hadn’t realized that John had mixed some medicine into your tea and it must have made you extra drowsy.  
“Nothing on the website?” John whispered. Sherlock grabbed his laptop from his desk and handed it to John.  
“Dear Mr. Sherlock Holmes. I can’t find Bluebell anywhere. Please, please, please can you help?” Sherlock dictated.  
“Bluebell?” John asked confused.  
“A rabbit, John!” Sherlock yelled, which surprisingly didn’t wake you.  
“Ah, but there’s more. Before Bluebell disappeared, it turned luminous. ‘Like a fairy’ according to little Kirsty. Then the next morning, Bluebell was gone. Hutch still locked, no sign of a forced entry. What am I saying, this is brilliant. Phone Lestrade, tell him there’s an escaped rabbit.” Sherlock said, seriously.  
“Are you serious?” John asked.  
“It’s this, or Cluedo.” Sherlock said.  
“Ah, no. We are never playing that again.” John said, removing the computer from his lap.  
“Why not?” Sherlock asked, in all seriousness.  
“Because it’s not actually possible for the victim to have done it, Sherlock, that’s why.” John said.  
“It was the only possible solution.” Sherlock argued.  
“It’s not in the rules.” John said.  
“Well, then, the rules are wrong!” Sherlock yelled.  
“Shh! You’re going to wake her up.” John whisper yelled, pointing to you.  
“Fine, I’ll just move her then.” Sherlock said, moving to pick you up. He carried you into his bedroom and placed you under the covers. When he was leaving his room he heard the doorbell ring.  
“Single ring.” John pointed out.  
“Maximum pressure, just under the half second. Client!” Sherlock said.  
While you slept, a client was brought into the living room. He showed Sherlock and John a documentary on the television about Dartmoor. Dartmoor was home to the military testing site Baskerville, which is rumored to be doing animal testing and genetic mutations. The client, Henry Knight, was in the documentary. He claims that a genetically mutated beast killed his father. Sherlock abruptly turned off the television and asked Henry what he saw. He argued that he was just about to say it on the documentary. To that Sherlock responded that he liked to do his own editing.  
“Do you know Dartmoor, Mr. Holmes?” Henry asked him.  
“No.” He answered.  
“It’s an amazing place, it’s like nowhere else, it’s sort of bleak, but beautiful.” Henry began.  
“Hm, not interested. Moving on.” Sherlock said rudely.  
“We used to go for walks, after my mum died, my dad and me. Every evening, we’d go out onto the moor.” Henry began before Sherlock cut him off again.  
“Yes, good. Skipping to the night that your dad was violently killed, where did that happen?” Sherlock asked insensitively.  
“There’s a place, it’s a sort of local landmark, called Dewer’s Hollow. That’s an ancient name for the devil.” Henry said.  
“So?” Sherlock said, unaffected.  
“Did you see the devil that night?” John asked.  
“Yes. It was huge, coal-black fur with red eyes. It got him. Tore at him, tore him apart. I can’t remember anything else. They found me the next morning, just wandering on the moor. My day’s body was never found.” Henry Knight said.  
“Red eyes, coal-black fur, enormous… dog? Wolf?” John asked.  
“Or a genetic experiment.” Sherlock smiled.  
“Are you laughing at me, Mr. Holmes?” Henry asked.  
“Why, are you joking?” Sherlock returned.  
“My dad was always going on about the things they were doing at Baskerville. About the type of monsters they were breeding there. People used to laugh at him. At least the TV people took me seriously.” Henry said.  
“And I assumed did wonders for Devon tourism.” Sherlock said.  
“Yeah… Henry, whatever did happen to your father, it was 20 years ago. Why come to us now?” John asked Henry.  
“I’m not sure you can help me, Mr. Holmes, since you find it all so funny!” Henry scolded, standing to leave.  
“Because of what happened last night.” Sherlock said, answering John’s question to Henry, causing him to stop in the doorway.  
“Why, what happened last night?” John asked.  
“How… How do you know?” Henry asked.  
“I didn’t know, I noticed. You came up from Devon on the first available train this morning. You had a disappointing breakfast and a black coffee. The girl across the aisle fancied you. Although you were initially keen, you’ve now changed your mind. You are however extremely anxious to have your first cigarette of the day. Sit down, Mr. Knight, and do please smoke. I’d be delighted.” Sherlock said. Henry moved and sat back in John’s chair.  
“How on Earth did you notice all that?” Henry asked.  
“It’s not important…” John attempted to save Sherlock from making his speech, but he seemed to go on and do it anyway.  
“Punched out holes where you tickets been checked.” Sherlock began.  
“Not now, Sherlock.” John tried.  
“Oh, please. I’ve been cooped-up in here for ages!” Sherlock protested.  
“You’re just showing off.” John said.  
“Of course. I am a show-off, that’s what we do.” Sherlock argued. “Train napkin you used to mop up the spilled coffee. The stain shows that you didn’t take milk. There are traces of ketchup on it and on your lips and sleeve. Cooked breakfast, or the nearest thing those trains can manage. Probably a sandwich.”  
“Ha. How did you know it was disappointing?” Henry asked nervously.  
“Is there any other type of breakfast on a train? The girl. Female handwriting is quite distinctive, wrote her phone number down on the napkin. I can tell from the angle she wrote at that she sat across from you on the other side of the aisle. Later, after she got off, I imagine you used the napkin to mop up your spilled coffee, accidentally smudging the numbers. You’ve been over the last four digits yourself in another pen, so you wanted to keep the number. Just now though you used that napkin to blow your nose, maybe you’re not that into her after all. Then there’s the nicotine stains on your fingers. Your shaking fingers. I know the signs. No chance to smoke one on the train, no time to roll one before you got on a cab here. It’s just after 9:15, you’re desperate. The first train from Exeter to London leaves at 5:46 am. You got the first one possible so something important must have happened last night. Am I wrong?” Sherlock said.  
“No. You’re right. You’re completely, exactly right. Bloody hell, I heard you were quick.” Henry said and Sherlock now had a smirk on his face.  
“It’s my job. Now shut up and smoke.” Sherlock said, and Henry began to light his cigarette.  
“Henry, your parents both died and you were what, seven years old?” John asked. Sherlock stood over Henry and inhaled his smoke before sitting back down. “That must be quite a trauma. Now, have you ever thought that maybe you invented this story, this… to account for it?”  
“That’s what Dr. Mortimer says.” Henry said.  
“Who?” John asked.  
“His therapist. Obviously.” Sherlock said.  
Suddenly your voice could be heard yelling from the bedroom.  
“Sherlock Holmes if you are smoking I swear to God!” You yelled when you awoke to the smell of smoke. You opened the door and walked out into the living room wearing Sherlock’s blue dressing gown to see a man sitting in John’s chair smoking.  
“Oh, sorry. I didn’t realize you had a client.” You said when you saw Henry Knight.  
“You’re that detective from the paper, Gregson. I didn’t realize… Are you two?” Henry asked, gesturing between you and Sherlock.  
“Yes, we are, now back to your therapist.” Sherlock said, he waved you over to sit on the arm of his chair. When you did, he placed an arm around you. You were feeling slightly better now with a little rest and drugs in your system.  
“Louise Mortimer. She’s the reason I came back to Dartmoor. She thinks I have to face my demons.” Henry said.  
“What happened when you went back to Dewer’s Hollow last night, Henry? You went there on the advice of your therapist and now you’re consulting a detective. What did you see that changed everything?” Sherlock asked.  
“It’s a strange place, the Hollow. It makes you feel so cold inside, so afraid.” Henry began.  
“Yes, if I wanted poetry, I’d read John’s emails to his girlfriends, much funnier. What did you see?” Sherlock said, you placed a hand on his shoulder and squeezed him slightly, silently telling him he was being rude.  
“Footprints. On the exact spot where I saw my father torn apart.” Henry said, Sherlock sat back completely in his chair. He took your hand from his shoulder and absentmindedly fiddled with it, clearly Henry was boring him.  
“Man’s or woman’s?” John asked.  
“Neither. They were…” Henry began before Sherlock cut him off.  
“Is that it? Nothing else? Footprints, it that all?” Sherlock said rudely.  
“Yes but they were…” Henry began.  
“No, sorry, Dr. Mortimer wins. It’s a childhood trauma masked by an invented memory. Boring. Goodbye, Mr. Knight, thank you for smoking.” Sherlock said, you gave Sherlock’s hand a little squeeze.  
“But… What about the footprints?” Henry asked.  
“Oh, they’re probably paw prints, could be anything, therefore nothing. Off to Devon with you, have a cream tea on me.” Sherlock said, standing up and waving him off.  
“Mr. Holmes, they were the footprints of a gigantic hound.” Henry said, Sherlock was walking into the kitchen and stopped in his tracks. He turned around slowly.  
“Say that again.” Sherlock said.  
“They were the footprints of a gigantic hound.” Henry said.  
“I’ll take the case.” Sherlock said slowly.  
“Sorry, what?” John asked.  
“Thank you for bringing this to my attention, it’s very promising.” Sherlock said, folding his hands under his chin.  
“No, no, no, sorry what? A minute ago, footprints were boring, now they’re very promising?” John asked, confused.  
“It’s got nothing to do with footprints. As ever John you weren’t listening. Baskerville. Ever heard of it?” Sherlock asked, he turned to you for the last part.  
“Um vaguely I guess. It’s very hush-hush.” You said, slipping down into Sherlock’s chair.  
“Sounds like a good place to start.” Sherlock said.  
“You’ll come down then?” Henry asked.  
“No, I can’t leave London at the moment, far too busy. But don’t worry I’m putting my best man onto it. I can always rely on John to send me all the relevant data, as he never understands a word of it himself.” Sherlock said, and you were confused.  
“What are you talking about ‘you’re busy’? You don’t have a case! A minute ago, you were complaining…” John began to scold.  
“Bluebell, John. I’ve got Bluebell! The case of the vanishing glow-in-the-dark rabbit. NATO’s in uproar.” Sherlock said, making you even more confused.  
“Oh, sorry, you’re not coming, then?” Henry said, and Sherlock shook his head, almost giving John a pouty face.  
“Oh. Okay. Okay.” John said, standing and retrieving Sherlock’s cigarettes from underneath the skull on the mantle.  
“John!” You scolded. John threw them to Sherlock, he caught them and threw them behind him.  
“I don’t need those anymore, I’m going to Dartmoor. You go on ahead, Henry, we’ll follow later.” Sherlock said.  
“I’m sorry, so you are coming?” Henry asked, about as confused as you.  
“Twenty-year-old disappearance, a monstrous hound? I wouldn’t miss this for the world!” Sherlock said as he walked Henry Knight out.  
When he came back he saw you sitting in his chair.  
“I’m going to need your help of course.” Sherlock said.  
“Sherlock…” You sighed, “I’m sick, you seriously want me tagging along?”  
“Of course I do.” Sherlock said.  
“Sherlock… I think I need to be in bed, I have zero energy, I’m not going to be much help.” You argued.  
“Please Y/N! We’ll find and Inn to stay at, you can rest, you have your very own personal doctor, do whatever you’re up to, then I can have someone to talk to.” Sherlock said.  
“You have John to talk to.” You retorted.  
“You know it’s different.” Sherlock said.  
“Ugh fine. But I hope I get you sick for making me do this.” you told Sherlock.


	35. Chapter 35

You packed a small bag of things and went to grab a cab with John and Sherlock. From outside of Speedy’s you could hear Mrs. Hudson yelling at the owner.  
“Cruise together, you had no intention of taking me on a boat!” She yelled, throwing something at the door.  
“Oh! Looks like Mrs. Hudson finally got to the wife in Doncaster.” John said.  
“Hm. Wait until she finds out about the one in Islamabad.” Sherlock smiled and John laughed.  
“Paddington Station, please.” Sherlock told the cabbie.  
When you got on the train, John gave you some more pills to make you feel better. You had almost fallen asleep a few times on Sherlock’s shoulder over the course of the three hour train ride. During the ride, Sherlock had filled you in on what you missed with Henry Knight.  
When you got there Sherlock got a large Land Rover to drive the rest of the way to Dartmoor. You were stuck sitting in the back. You didn’t know Sherlock could drive, he lived in the city. He takes a cab everywhere. Speaking of the city, you had never been outside of London. This was your first time out in the countryside and it was truly beautiful. There were long green pastures and hills. There were these huge rocks on a hill leading to Baskerville. From there you could see the small village, Dewers Hollow, and Baskerville with the Minefield in front of it.  
You drove down to the village and parked. While walking in, you passed a tour guide telling his group to stay away from the moor at night if they value their lives. Once inside, John went to get a room while Sherlock had a look around the place. We tried to get two rooms but they only had one. It really wasn’t that much of a problem. You and Sherlock would share and John would have his own bed. The three of you basically lived together anyway.  
“Sorry we couldn’t do a double room for you boys.” You heard the owner say as you approached John at the counter.  
“It’s fine. We’re not… There you go.” John said, paying.  
“Oh, ta, I’ll just get your change.” He said walking away. You stood next to John in front of the receipts on the counter. You looked down and noticed something strange. You quickly ripped the receipt off and stuck it in your pocket while the man came back. It was for raw meat, which was strange considering the Inn/pub was a vegetarian restaurant.  
“There you go.” The man said, handing John his change.  
“I couldn’t help noticing, on the map of the moor, a skull and crossbones?” You said.  
“Oh that.” The man said behind the bar. You looked to John when he didn’t answer.  
“Pirates?” John smiled.  
“Er no. The Great Grimpen Minefield, they call it. It’s the Baskerville testing site. It’s been going for 80-odd years. I’m not sure anyone really knows what’s there anymore.” The man said, kindly.  
“Explosives?” You asked.  
“Oh, not just explosives. Break into that place and if you’re lucky, you just get blown up, so they say. In case you’re planning a nice wee stroll.” He said.  
“Ta. We’ll remember.” John said.  
“Aye. It buggers up tourism a bit, so thank God for the demon hound. Did you see that show? The documentary?” He asked.  
“Quite recently, yeah.” John answered.  
“God bless Henry Knight and his monster from hell.” He smiled.  
“Ever seen it? The hound?” You asked him.  
“Me? No, no. Fletcher has. He runs the walks, the monster walks for the tourists, you know. He’s seen it.” He said, pointing to the man outside that you had passed on the way in.  
“Handy, for trade.”John said, another man stepped behind the bar and the man you were talking to invited him into the conversation.  
“I’m just saying we’ve been rushed off our feet, Billy.” He said to him.  
“Yeah, lots of monster hunters.” The man called Billy said. “It doesn’t take much these days, one mention on Twitter and whoomph! We’re out of WKD.”  
“Oh, right.” The other man answered.  
“What with the monster and the ruddy prison, I don’t know how we sleep nights. Do you, Gary?” Billy said.  
“Like a baby.” Gary said, placing his arm around Billy’s shoulder. Ooh, they owned the Inn together.  
“That’s not true. He’s a snorer.” Billy said.  
“Hey, shh.” Gary said.  
“Is yours a snorer.” He asked. You jumped when Sherlock appeared behind you.  
“No, she talks in her sleep sometimes.” Sherlock said.  
“I do not.” You protested. Sherlock raised an eyebrow. Sherlock left and John ordered a beer, you thought it best if you didn’t drink. You were already sick, you didn’t want to be drunk too.  
Sherlock went to sit at a table outside, and you followed him after a moment. He was sitting near the man Gary referred to as Fletcher.  
“Bet’s off Y/N, sorry.” Sherlock said as you sat down across from him. You raised an eyebrow at him.  
“Bet?” Fletcher asked.  
“My plan needs darkness. We’ve got another half an hour of light.” Sherlock said.  
“Wait, wait. What bet?” Fletcher asked.  
“Oh, I bet Y/N here 50 quid that you couldn’t prove you’d seen the hound.” Sherlock said, you saw where he was going with this.  
“Yeah, the guys in the pub said you could.” You answered.  
“Well, you’re going to lose your money to this pretty girl here, mate.” Fletcher said.  
“Yeah?” Sherlock asked.  
“Yeah. I’ve seen it, only about a month ago. Up at the Hollow. It was foggy, mind, couldn’t make much out.” Fletcher began pulling up something on his phone.  
“I see. No witnesses, I suppose.” Sherlock said.  
“No, but… There.” He said, showing us a picture on his phone.  
“Is that it?” Sherlock scoffed, “It’s not exactly proof, is it? Sorry, Y/N, I win.” Sherlock said and took a sip of his drink.  
“Wait, wait, that’s not all. People don’t like going up there, you know. To the Hollow. Gives them a bad sort of feeling.” Fletcher continued.  
“Ooh, is it haunted? Is that supposed to convince me?” Sherlock said.  
“Nah, don’t be stupid! Nothing like that. But I reckon there is something out there. Something from Baskerville, escaped.” Fletcher said.  
“A clone? A super-dog?” Sherlock mocked him.  
“Maybe. God knows what they’ve been spraying on us all these years, or putting in the water. I wouldn’t trust them as far as I could spit.” Fletcher said.  
“Is that the best you’ve got?” Sherlock said, testing him.  
“I had a mate once who worked for the MOD. One weekend we were meant to go fishing, but he never showed up. Well, not till late. When he did, he was white as a sheet. I can see him now. ‘I’ve seen things today, Fletcher’ he said ‘that I never want to see again. Terrible things’. He’d been sent to some secret army place. Porton Down, maybe. Maybe Baskerville, or somewhere else. In the labs there, the really secret labs, he said he’d seen terrible things. ‘Rats as big as dogs’ he said, ‘and dogs, dogs the size of horses’.” Fletcher said, and he pulled out a huge cemented impression of a paw print. It was like BigFoot.  
Sherlock’s eyes scanned it carefully.  
“Um, we did say 50.” You said to Sherlock with a smirk. Fletcher smirked as Sherlock handed you the money. He stood from the table, you followed him and John did the same as he stepped outside of the pub.  
“How are you feeling?” Sherlock asked you as you got in the car.  
“Fine, I’ve been better, but I’ll be okay.” You said.  
You stared outside the window as Sherlock drove. You weren’t sure where you were going. You turned your head to the other window and saw a sign for Baskerville. Dear God, we were going to break into Baskerville. We pulled up to a gate where some armed guards asked Sherlock for his pass. He handed it to him, you and John shared a look of disbelief.  
“You’ve got ID for Baskerville? How?” John asked him when the guard left to check his ID.  
“It’s not specific to this place. It’s my brother’s. Access all areas. I, um… Ahem, I acquired it ages ago. Just in case.” Sherlock said.  
“Brilliant.” You said from the back.  
“What’s the matter?” Sherlock asked.  
“We’ll get caught.” You warned.  
“No, we won’t. Well, not just yet.” Sherlock said.  
“Caught in five minutes. ‘Oh hi, we thought we’d wander around your top secret weapons base.’ ‘Really? Great. Come in, kettle’s just boiled’. That’s if we don’t get shot.” You predicted.  
“Clear. Thank you very much.” The armed guard returned and handed Sherlock the ID back.  
“Thank you.” Sherlock said, as they opened the gate and you drove into Baskerville.  
“Mycroft’s name literally opens doors.” You sighed.  
“I’ve told you, he practically is the British Government.” Sherlock said. “I reckon we’ve got about 20 minutes before they realize something is wrong.”  
You jumped out of the car and another armed guard led the three of you towards a door. Before you got there, a jeep pulled in front of you and another man jumped out.  
“What is it? Are we in trouble?” The man asked quickly.  
“Are we in trouble, sir.” Sherlock corrected him and you fought to hold back a smile.  
“Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.” The man corrected himself.  
“You were expecting us?” Sherlock asked.  
“Your ID showed up straight away, Mr. Holmes. Corporal Lyons, security. Is there something wrong, sir?” He asked again.  
“Well, I hope not, Corporal, I hope not.” Sherlock said, acting more arrogant than usual.  
“It’s just we don’t get inspected here. You see, sir. It just doesn’t happen.” The Corporal said.  
“Ever heard of a spot check? Captain John Watson, Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers.” John said, pulling rank.  
“Sir. Major Barrymore won’t be pleased, sir. He’ll want to see you both.” Lyons said, not noticing you standing behind the two men.  
“I’m afraid we won’t have time for that. We’ll need the full tour. Right away. Carry on. That’s an order, Corporal.” John said.  
“Yes, sir. And you are?” The man said, addressing you.  
“Mr. Holmes’ assistant, sir.” You said in a British accent and the Corporal nodded as he unlocked the door.  
“Nice touch.” Sherlock whispered to John once you were inside the base.  
“Haven’t pulled rank in ages.” John whispered back.  
“Enjoy it?” Sherlock asked.  
“Oh, yeah.” John said casually before Corporal Lyons lead the three of you into an elevator. When the elevator stopped you stepped out into a bright white lab filled with animals in cages.  
“How many animals do you keep down here?” Sherlock asked.  
“Lots, sir.” The corporal answered.  
“Any ever escape?” Sherlock asked.  
“They’d have to know how to use that lift, sir. We’re not breeding them that clever.” The Corporal said with a smile.  
“Unless they have help.” Sherlock said quietly.  
“Ah, and you are?” A scientist said, approaching your group.  
“It’s alright Dr. Frankland, I’m just showing these gentlemen around.” Lyons said, ah it was nice to be invisible.  
“Ah, new faces, how nice. Careful you don’t get stuck here, thought, I only came to fix a tap.” Dr. Frankland said as he walked away. Down the hall he turned back and looked at you. Oh God, he recognized us.  
“How far down does that lift go?” John asked.  
“Quite a way, sir.” Lyons said.  
“Mhm, and what’s down there?” John asked again.  
“Well, we have to keep the bins somewhere, sir. This way please, gentlemen.” The corporal said, and you followed behind, unnoticed.  
“So what exactly is it that you do here?” John asked as we walked.  
“I thought you’d know, sir, this being an inspection.” Lyons said.  
“Well, I’m not an expert, am I?” John retorted.  
“Everything from stem cell research to trying to cure the common cold, sir.” Lyons said, well wouldn’t that be nice.  
“But mostly weaponry?” John confirmed.  
“Of one sort or another, yes.” Lyons answered.  
“Biological, chemical?” John asked.  
“One war ends, another begins, sir. New enemies to fight. We have to be prepared.” Lyons said as he opened a door and Sherlock looked at his watch.  
Through the next door you could hear a monkey screeching.  
“Okay, Michael, let’s try Harlow 3 next time.” A doctor said to a man who was handling the monkey.  
“Dr. Stapleton…” Lyons said as you entered the room.  
“Stapleton?” Sherlock repeated, clearly recognizing it.  
“Yes? Who’s this?” Dr. Stapleton asked.  
“Priority ultra, ma’am, orders from on high. An inspection.” Lyons answered.  
“Really?” She asked surprised.  
“We’re to be accorded every courtesy, Dr. Stapleton. What’s your role at Baskerville?” Sherlock asked the doctor. She laughed.  
“Uh, accorded every courtesy, isn’t that the idea?” John said, rudely.  
“I’m not free to say. Official secrets.” She scoffed.  
“Oh, you most certainly are free, and I suggest you remain that way.” Sherlock yelled. You didn’t blame him, this woman was not cooperating. In an investigation if someone is not cooperating or coopering too much it usually mean they’re involved in some way.  
“I have a lot of fingers in a lot of pies. I like to mix things up. Genes, mostly. Now and again, actual fingers.” Dr. Stapleton said.  
“Stapleton!” Sherlock shook his head, writing something in his notebook, “I knew I knew your name.”  
“I doubt it.” She said casually.  
“People say there’s no such thing as coincidence. Dull lives they must lead.” Sherlock said. He turned his notebook around to show Dr. Stapleton what he had written. ‘Bluebell’ it read.  
“Have you been talking to my daughter?” Dr. Stapleton asked.  
“Why did Bluebell have to die, Dr. Stapleton?” Sherlock asked.  
“The rabbit?” John asked.  
“Disappeared from inside a locked hutch, which was always suggestive.” Sherlock began.  
“The rabbit?” John asked again.  
“Clearly an inside job.” Sherlock continued. “Why, because it glowed in the dark.”  
“I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about. Who are you?” Dr. Stapleton asked. Sherlock looked at his watch.  
Suddenly your phone rang, you apologized and turned it off. Before you did however you noticed it was a call from Mycroft. Busted.  
“I think we’ve seen enough for now, Corporal. Thank you so much.” Sherlock said.  
“That’s it?” Corporal asked.  
“That’s it. It’s this way, isn’t it?” Sherlock pointed as he began walking.  
“Did we just break into a military base to investigate a rabbit?” John asked.  
You continued to follow John and Sherlock out towards the door of the base when Sherlock’s phone buzzed with a text. You assumed it was from Mycroft, asking him what the hell he was doing.  
“Ha! 23 minutes. Mycroft’s getting slow.” Sherlock said quietly.  
You made it back to the main elevator. When the door opened you were surprised to see Dr. Frankland again.  
“Hello, again.” He smiled.  
When the door opened and you were almost in the clear, a tall figure blocked your path.  
“Er, Major…” Corporal Lyons began.  
“This is bloody outrageous! Why wasn’t I told?” The man said, who must have been Major Barrymore.  
“Major Barrymore, is it? Yes, well, good. We are very impressed, aren’t we Mr. Holmes?” John said as you stepped out of the elevator.  
“Deeply. Hugely.” Sherlock said, reading another text from Mycroft.  
“The whole point of Baskerville was to eliminate this kind of bureaucratic nonsense!” Barrymore yelled.  
“I’m so sorry Major.” Sherlock said.  
“Inspections!” The Major yelled again.  
“New policy. Can’t remain unmonitored for ever, goodness knows what you’d get up to. Keep walking.” sherlock said that last pit quietly to you.  
“Sir!” Corporal Lyons suddenly yelled and hit some kind of panic or emergency button on the wall. Shit. “ID unauthorized sir. I’ve just had the call.”  
“Is that right? Who are you?” Barrymore yelled.  
“There’s obviously been some kind of mistake.” You said with a British accent, if you were Mycroft’s assistant it might give it away if you were American.  
“Clearly not, Mycroft Holmes.” The Major mocked.  
“Computer error, Major. It’ll all have to go in the report.” John said.  
“It’s alright, Major. I know exactly who these gentlemen are.” Dr. Frankland said. You gulped nervously.


	36. Chapter 36

“You do?” The Major asked confused.  
“I’m getting a little slow on faces but Mr. Holmes here isn’t someone I expected to show up in this place.” Dr. Frankland said. Shit, shit, he was going to give you away. You knew he recognized you all.  
“Oh, well…” Sherlock began.  
“Good to see you again, Mycroft.” Dr. Frankland said, which surprised all of you. “I had the honour of meeting Mr. Holmes and his assistant Miss Gregson at the WHO conference in… Brussels, was it?” Dr. Frankland said, shaking Sherlock’s hand.  
“Vienna.” Sherlock said, playing along.  
“Vienna, that’s it. This is Mr. Mycroft Holmes, Major. There’s obviously been a mistake.” Dr. Frankland said, why would he protect us?  
“On your head be it, Dr. Frankland.” Barrymore said, still displeased.  
“I’ll show them out, Corporal.” Frankland said, leading us reluctantly through the door.  
“Thank you.” Sherlock said when you were out of the building.  
“This is about Henry Knight, isn’t it? I thought so. I knew he wanted help, but I didn’t realize he was going to contact Sherlock Holmes!” Dr. Frankland said. Sherlock smiled briefly.  
“Oh, don’t worry, I know who you really are. I’m never off your website. I thought you’d be wearing the hat though.” the doctor said again.  
“That wasn’t my hat.” Sherlock said. Dr. Frankland turned to you.  
“Touchy subject.” You smiled.  
“I love the blog too, Dr. Watson.” Frankland said.  
“Oh, cheers.” John said.  
“The pink thing. And the one about the aluminium crutch. Didn’t expect to see you though Sergeant Gregson, is the Yard in on this one too?” Frankland asked.  
“No, I’m on holiday.” You lied, but sometimes that was easier.  
“You know Henry Knight?” Sherlock asked him.  
“Well, I knew his dad better. He had all sorts of mad theories about this place. Still, he was a good friend.” Frankland said, he turned his head to see Major Barrymore staring at us suspiciously. “ Listen, I can’t really talk now. Here’s my cell number. If I can help with Henry, give me a call.”  
“I never did ask, Dr. Frankland, what exactly is it that you do here?” Sherlock asked.  
“Ah, Mr. Holmes, I would love to tell you, but then, of course, I’d have to kill you.” Dr. Frankland laughed.  
“That would be tremendously ambitious of you. Tell me about Dr. Stapleton.” Sherlock said.  
“I never speak ill of a colleague.” Frankland said.  
“But you’d speak well of one, which you’re clearly unable to do.” You pointed out.  
“I do seem to be, don’t I?” He said with a smile.  
“I’ll be in touch.” Sherlock said, holding up his business card as he walked away, you all followed.  
“So? What was all that about a rabbit?” You asked, Sherlock fixed his coat and put his collar up.  
“Oh, please, can we not do this, this time? John asked when he saw what Sherlock was doing.  
“Do what?” He asked, confused.  
“You being all mysterious with your… cheekbones, and turning your coat collar up so you look cool.” John said as he got in the car. You couldn’t help but laugh. Sherlock gave you a look.  
“Aww, don’t be mad.” You said, hugging him.  
“I don’t do that.” Sherlock argued.  
“Yeah, you do.” You laughed as you got in the back of the car.  
“So the email from Kirsty. The missing luminous rabbit.” John began.  
“Kirsty Stapleton, whose mother specialises in genetic manipulation.” Sherlock said.  
“She made her daughter’s rabbit glow in the dark?” you asked.  
“Probably a fluorescent gene. Removed and spliced into the specimen. Simple enough, these days. So we know that Dr. Stapleton performs secret genetic experiments on animals. Question is, has she been working on something deadlier than a rabbit?” Sherlock asked.  
“To be fair that is quite a wide field.” John said.  
You noticed that the car pulled up to a huge house. You figured it had to belong to Henry Knight, but Jesus this place was huge. You followed the boys to the front door where Sherlock rang the bell.  
“Hi. Come in, come in.” Henry said, as he opened the door.  
“This is beautiful.” You told Henry.  
“Are you, um, rich?” John asked.  
“Yeah.” Henry said.  
“Right.” John said.  
Henry led you into the kitchen where he gave you coffee. John looked at his watch and slipped you a few more pills.  
“You’re a lifesaver Watson.” You smiled.  
You sat down at the counter while Henry began to talk.  
“There’s a couple of words, it’s what I keep seeing. Liberty and In. Just that.” Henry began as John wrote down the words in his notebook. Henry turned to put something back in the fridge.  
“Mean anything to you?” John asked Sherlock.  
“Liberty in death? Isn’t that the expression. The only true freedom.” Sherlock whispered.  
“What now then?” Henry asked.  
“Sherlock’s… got a plan?” John said.  
“Yes.” Sherlock said after taking a sip of his drink.  
“Right.” Henry said.  
“We take you back out to the moor.” Sherlock began.  
“Okay…” Henry sighed.  
“And see if anything attacks you.” Sherlock finished.  
“What?” You and John asked at the same time.  
“That should bring things to a head.” Sherlock said.  
“At night?” Henry asked, nervous. “You want me to go out there at night?”  
“That’s your plan? Brilliant!” John laughed.  
“Got any better ideas?” Sherlock asked,  
“That’s not a plan.” John argued.  
“If there is a monster out there, John, there’s only one thing to do. Find out where it lives.” Sherlock said.  
You were tired and needed a nap but you wanted to be a part of the investigation and help. You were feeling a little better than you were this morning with all the medication John has been giving you, but you were nowhere near 100%.  
As the sun set, Henry led you, Sherlock, and John to the moor and down to Dewer’s Hollow. You each had flashlights in hand. You stayed close to Sherlock, after a little while of walked you turned around and noticed John was no longer there. He must have seen something and followed it.  
“Met a friend of yours.” Sherlock said, when you were almost there.  
“What?” Henry asked.  
“Dr. Frankland?” Sherlock said.  
“Oh, right. Bob, yeah.” Henry said, absentmindedly.  
“He seems pretty concerned about you.” Sherlock noticed.  
“Oh, he’s a worrier, bless him. He’s been very kind to me since I came back.” Henry told you.  
“He knew your father?” You asked.  
“Yeah.” Henry answered.  
“But he works at Baskerville. Didn’t your dad have a problem with that?” You asked him.  
“Well, mates are mates, aren’t they? I mean, look at you two. You hate police Mr. Holmes yet you’re dating one.” Henry said.  
“The rest of the police force are morons, I’ve just managed to find one that isn’t.” Sherlock said.  
“Dewers Hollow.” Henry pointed once you had arrived.


	37. Chapter 37

The Hollow was like nothing you had ever seen before. It was like you were down in the earth surrounded by large trees. You felt like the headless horseman was going to come running through the wood any moment. In all fairness, the place did have an eerie feel about it. It seemed like the temperature dropped ten degrees when you got there. You moved closer to Sherlock as you looked around.  
When you made it to the bottom your head began to spin. You noticed several large foot prints on the ground. There was something so dark about the place. You began to feel light headed. It was almost as if every breath you took was making you more and more light headed. Like you were breathing something you shouldn’t. Your heart was racing, almost like fear.  
You began to hear howling and as you turned around to find the noise your legs gave out. You fell, completely unconscious. You had never fainted before, there was something wrong with this place. On your way down, as your eyes rolled to the back of your head, you tried to grab Sherlock’s arm but you missed.  
“Y/N?” Sherlock yelled, as he turned and saw you on the ground. He knelt down beside you, placing your head in his hands. He was shaking in fear, he couldn’t believe what he had just seen. He checked to make sure you had a pulse, which you did. You were just out cold.  
“Oh my God. Oh my God.” Henry kept repeating. “You saw it, didn’t you? She must have seen it.”  
Sherlock picked you up and carried you out of the Hollow. Once at the edge of the woods near Henry’s house you ran into John. Another howl filled the air.  
“Did you hear that? Oh my God, what happened?” John asked when he saw Sherlock carrying you.  
“We saw it. We saw it!” Henry cried.  
“No, I didn’t see anything. She’s unconscious, she must have fainted.” Sherlock answered.  
“What? What are you talking about?” Henry asked, knowing Sherlock had seen something.  
“I didn’t see anything.” Sherlock repeated as he carried you into Henry’s house and laid you down on a couch.  
“I saw it. He must have. I guarantee she saw it too, that’s why she fainted.” Henry said. Sherlock knew that wasn’t the reason you fainted, it must have had something to do with the fact that you were sick. He was having trouble believing what he saw though. Henry kept rambling about seeing it.  
“Henry, Henry, I need you to sit down. Try and relax, please.” John pointed to a chair while he checked on you. He too checked your pulse, relieved when it was there. John used his flashlight to check your pupils. You seemed to be fine, you would have a terrible headache when you woke up though.  
“This is good. I’m not crazy. There is a hound, there is. And Sherlock, he saw it too. No matter what he says, he saw it.” Henry said.  
You began to stir while John knelt beside you.  
“Y/N? Y/N, can you hear me?” John asked, as your eyes slowly blinked open.  
“John?” You asked, slowly looking around. “What happened?”  
“You fainted, we need to get you back to the Inn and to bed. I knew it was a bad idea to bring you…” John began.  
“Did you see it?” Henry asked you suddenly. Your head was spinning, you had a migraine, and you just wanted to go to bed.  
“I don’t.. I…” You muttered, holding your head in your hands.  
“Henry, I’m going to give you something to help you sleep, but I need you to calm down okay? I need to get Y/N home.” John said, as he helped you to your feet.  
He brought you back to the Inn & pub and Sherlock was sitting in front of the fire. When he saw you walk in, holding onto John’s arm for support, he jumped to his feet.  
“Are you alright?” He asked, placing his hands on your arms, examining you. You nodded slowly.  
“I was taking her to the room.” John said.  
“I’ll take her.” Sherlock said, leading you back to the room while John stayed in the pub.  
Inside the room, Sherlock sat you down on the bed and sat down next to you.  
“Did you see it too, Y/N?” Sherlock asked, nervously.  
“I don’t remember, I don’t think so.” You began to cry, he wrapped his arms around you. “Sherlock, that place, there something bad there. I heard something and when I turned around everything just went black.”  
“I know, I know. I don’t know what I saw. I’m sorry, I got you into this mess. You could have been safely at home.” Sherlock said as he held you.  
“It’s not your fault. I don’t know what happened in the Hollow Sherlock, but it wasn’t your fault.” You told him.  
“Go to sleep.” Sherlock said, kissing your forehead. You nodded and laid back in the bed. You crawled under the covers as Sherlock left to meet John in the pub.  
As Sherlock returned to his chair in front of the fire his mind raced. He was trying to save face with you, but once he was just with John he let go. He couldn’t believe his own eyes in the Hollow.  
“Henry’s in a bad way. He’s manic.” John said once Sherlock sat down next to him. “Totally convinced there’s some mutant super-dog roaming the moors. And there isn’t, though, is there? If people knew how to make a mutant super-dog, we’d know. It’d be for sale. I mean, that’s how it works. Listen, on the moor I saw someone signaling, Morse. I guess it’s Morse. It doesn’t seem to make much sense. U,M,Q,R,A, does that mean anything? So, okay, what have we got?”  
Sherlock took in a deep breath, his hands folded under his chin as he did. Sherlock said nothing so John continued to talk.  
“We know there’s footprints, because Henry found them, so did the tour guide bloke. We all heard something. Maybe we should just look for whoever has got a big dog.” John offered.  
“Henry’s right.” Sherlock said suddenly.  
“What?” John asked confused.  
“I saw it, too.” Sherlock said with shaking breath.  
“What?” John asked again, thinking he was joking.  
“I saw it too, John.” He said once more.  
“Just… Just a minute, you saw what?” John asked, skeptical.  
“A hound. Out there in the Hollow. A gigantic hound.” Sherlock said, shaking, as if he was having another psychotic break.  
“Um, look, Sherlock. We have to be rational about this.” John smiled, thinking Sherlock was crazy. “Okay, now you, of all people, can’t just… Let’s just stick to what we know, yes? Stick to the facts.”  
“Once you’ve ruled out the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be true.” Sherlock said quietly.  
“What does that mean?” John asked, shaking his head. Sherlock picked up his glass of whiskey, his hand shaking.  
“Look at me, I’m afraid John.” Sherlock laughed at himself. “Afraid.”  
Sherlock took another sip of his drink.  
“I’ve always been able to keep myself distant. Divorce myself from feelings. But look, you see, body’s betraying me. Interesting, yes, emotions. The grit on the lens, the fly in the ointment.” Sherlock said, clearly Henry wasn’t the only one who was manic.  
“Yeah, alright, Spock just… Take it easy.” John said, looking around the pub to make sure no one else would see Sherlock like this. “You’ve been pretty wired lately, you know you have. I think you’ve just gone out there and got yourself a bit worked up.”  
“Worked up?” Sherlock asked rudely.  
“It was dark and scary…” John began, feeling like the only sensible adult in the room.  
“Me? There’s nothing wrong with me.” Sherlock argued. He began breathing deeply, he places his fingers on his temples.  
“Sherlock.” John began, shaking his head, looking around once more. “Sherl…”  
“There is nothing wrong with me! Do you understand?” Sherlock yelled. Everyone in the pub now had their eyes on him. “You want me to prove it, yes?”  
John kept his head down with an angry look on his face.  
“We’re looking for a dog, yes? A great big dog, that’s your brilliant theory. Cherchez le chien!” Sherlock began speaking fast. Look for the dog. “Good. Excellent. Yes. where shall we start? How about them? The sentimental widow and her son, the unemployed fisherman.”  
Sherlock pointed to the two seated at a table against the wall.  
“The answer’s yes.” Sherlock said rudely.  
“Yes?” John asked, confused because no question was asked.  
“She’s got a West Highland Terrier named Whisky, not exactly what we’re looking for!” Sherlock wailed.  
“Sherlock, for God’s sake!” John scolded.  
“Look at the jumper he’s wearing, hardly worn. Clearly he’s uncomfortable in it. Maybe because of the material or more likely the hideous pattern, suggests it’s a present, probably Christmas. So, he wants into his mother’s good books. Why? Almost certainly money. He’s treating her to a meal but his own portion is small. That means he want to impress her but he’s trying to economise on his own food.” Sherlock said.  
“Maybe he’s just not hungry.” John argued.  
“No, small plate, starter. He’s practically licked it clean. She’s nearly finished her pavlova. If she’d treated him, he’d have had as much as he wanted. He’s hungry and not well-off, you can tell by his cuffs and shoes. ‘How do you know she’s his mother?’ Who else would give him a Christmas present like that. I suppose it could be an aunt or older sister, but mother’s more likely. He was a fisherman, the scarring pattern on the back of his hands is distinctive. Fish hooks. They’re quite old now, suggesting he’s been unemployed for some time. Not much industry in this part of the world, so he’s turned to his widowed mother for help. ‘Widowed?” Yes, obviously. She’s got a man’s wedding ring on a chain around her neck, clearly her late husband’s and too big for her finger. She’s well-dressed, but her jewellery is cheap. She could afford better, but she’s kept it, sentimental. Now the dog. There are tiny hairs all over her leg, from where it gets a little bit too friendly, but none above the knees, suggesting it’s a small dog, probably a terrier. In fact it is, West Highland Terrier, called Whisky. ‘How the hell do you know that Sherlock?’ She was on the same train as us and I heard her call its name. And that’s not cheating. That’s listening. I use my senses John, unlike some people, so you see, I am fine. In fact, I’ve never been better, so just leave me alone!” Sherlock whisper yelled.  
“Yeah, okay. Okay.” John said, clearing his throat. He knew there was something wrong with Sherlock. “But, why would you listen to me? I’m just your friend.” John sighed.  
“I don’t have friends.” Sherlock said the word as if it disgusted him.  
“No. I wonder why?” John said sarcastically, standing to leave. He went out the back of the pub and saw the same flashing light that he did earlier in the night. He thought it strange and decided to see where it was coming from.  
After John discovered the light to be from a shaking parked car, he turned back, embarrassed. On his walk back to the pub, Sherlock texted him saying that Henry’s therapist was in the pub and he wanted him to interview her. John didn’t know why he should, to that Sherlock sent a picture of Dr. Mortimer, a beautiful biracial woman with long hair. John smirked and shook his head, on his way back to the pub.  
An hour later, John was sitting in the pub, drinking with Dr. Mortimer.  
“More wine, doctor?” John asked her smiling.  
“Are you trying to get me drunk, doctor?” She replied laughing.  
“Thought never occurred.” John flirted.  
“Because a while ago I thought you were chatting me up.” She smiled.  
“Oh! Where did I go wrong?” John asked, fake offended.  
“When you started asking me about my patients.” She said, taking a sip of her wine.  
“Well you see, I am one of Henry’s oldest friends.” John lied.  
“Yeah, and he’s one of my patients, so I can’t talk about him. Although he has told me about all his oldest friends. Which one are you?” She asked.  
“A new one?” He joked. “Okay, what about his father? He wasn’t one of your patients. Wasn’t be some kind of conspiracy nutter… theorist?” John said, correcting himself.  
“You’re only a nutter if you’re wrong.” She said.  
“Hm, and was he wrong?” John asked.  
“I should think so.” She laughed.  
“But he got fixated on Baskerville, didn’t he? With what they were doing in there. Couldn’t Henry have gone the same way, started imaging a hound?” John asked, wanting her to join in.  
“Why do you think I’m going to talk about this?” She asked, laughing. John laughed too.  
“Because I think you’re worried about him and because I’m a doctor too. And because I have another friend who might be having the same problem.” John said. Louise Mortimer sighed, she was about to talk when Dr. Frankland suddenly appeared, slapping John on the shoulder.  
“Dr. Watson!” He smiled.  
“Hi.” John said awkwardly, knowing Louise would never talk now.  
“Hello.” Frankland said cheerfully to Dr. Mortimer.  
“How’s the investigation going?” He asked John.  
“What, investigation?” Louise asked John smiling.  
“Didn’t you know? Don’t you read the blog? Sherlock Holmes, Sergeant Y/N Gregson.” Frankland said.  
“Sherlock who?” Louise asked confused.  
“Private detective, this is his PA.” Frankland said.  
“PA?” John asked.  
“Well, live in PA.” Frankland said, not sure what he was trying to insinuate there.  
“Perfect!” John sighed sarcastically.  
“This is Dr. Mortimer, Henry’s therapist.” John introduced.  
“John.” You called, now appearing behind John.  
“Ah speak of the devil.” Dr. Frankland smiled.  
“Are you Sherlock?” Dr. Mortimer asked you.  
“Oh no, thank God.” You smiled.  
“This is Sherlock’s girlfriend, Sergeant Gregson.” Dr. Frankland said, you smiled to the woman who seemed relieved. She must have assumed, like many do, that Sherlock and John are gay.  
“Listen, tell Sherlock I’ve been keeping an eye on Stapleton. Anytime he wants a little chat. Alright?” Dr. Frankland said to you.  
“That would be great if I could find him. “ You said, that was the real reason you came out.  
“He went back to the room I thought.” John said.  
“No, he never did.” you said, and John sighed, he felt as if he was a babysitter.


	38. Chapter 38

The lady John was with, left in a hurry. You didn’t find Sherlock until the next morning when he apparently had just come back from Henry Knight’s house.  
You and John were sitting outside near the small town cemetery getting some air.  
“Did you get anywhere with that Morse code?” Sherlock asked John, who had filled you in this morning on his outing.  
“Nah.” John said, standing and beginning to walk away. Clearly he was mad at Sherlock, you wondered why. Had Sherlock yelled at him or said something rude. You were mad at Sherlock because he was out the whole night and you were worried, he didn’t even tell you where he was going.  
“U,M,Q,R,A, wasn’t it? Umqra.” Sherlock said, who began to follow John and you did the same.  
“Nothing. Look, forget it. I thought I was onto something, I wasn’t.” John said.  
“How about Louise Mortimer did you get anywhere with her?” Sherlock asked.  
“No.” John said simply.  
“Too bad. Did you get any information.” Sherlock asked, you cracked a smile but hid it when you remembered you were supposed to be mad at Sherlock.  
“You’re being funny now?”John asked, clearly something had happened last night.  
“Thought it might break the ice, a bit.” Sherlock said.  
“Funny doesn’t suit you. Let’s stick to ice.” John said with a straight face.  
“What happened between you two last night?” You asked.  
“Last night something happened to me, something I’ve not really experienced before.” Sherlock said, which was a very vague answer.  
“Fear, Sherlock Holmes got scared.” John said, still vague.  
“No, no, no. It was more than that, it was doubt. I felt doubt. I’ve always been able to trust my senses, the evidence of my own eyes, until last night.” Sherlock said.  
“You can’t actually believe that you saw some kind of monster?” John asked.  
“No, I can’t believe that. But I did see it, so the question is, how?” Sherlock smiled. John shook his head and began to walk off. Sherlock didn’t follow him this time.  
“So what? You went all Coo-coo for coco puffs and yelled at him?” You asked Sherlock.  
“I may have said some things that I didn’t mean.” Sherlock said.  
“Then you know what to do. Apologize. Or else no more sex for a month.” You said, and Sherlock rolled his eyes.  
“John, wait!” He yelled, John turned around and stopped. “Listen, what I said before I meant it. I don’t have friends. I’ve just got one.”  
“Right.” John said, turning and continuing to walk away.  
“John! You are amazing! You are fantastic!” Sherlock began shouting. He was going a little overboard with this apology thing. Maybe he was done apologizing, maybe he had figured something out, something for the case.  
Sherlock began to run after John, you sighed, you weren’t about to run. Although you were a lot better, you were still sick.  
“Yes, alright, you don’t have to overdo it.” You heard John say when you caught up to them.  
“You may not be the most luminous of people, but as a conductor of light, you are unbeatable. Some people who aren’t geniuses have an amazing ability to stimulate it in others.” Sherlock said, taking out his little notebook and writing something down.  
“Hang on. You were saying sorry a minute ago. Probably because Y/N made you, but still, don’t spoil it. So go on, what have I done that’s so bloody stimulating?” John asked.  
Sherlock turned his notebook around to you. H.O.U.N.D.  
“It’s not a word, it’s individual letters.” You noticed.  
“You think in an acronym?” John asked.  
“Absolutely no idea…” Sherlock said, he turned and you saw he was looking at something inside the pub that you couldn’t see. “What the hell are you doing here?”  
Sherlock rushed into the pub. Who was he yelling at? You suddenly sneezed before stepping into the pub.  
“Oh, nice to see you too.” A voice said… Lestrade? What the hell was he doing here?  
“I’m on holiday, would you believe?” Lestrade said.  
“No, I wouldn’t.” Sherlock said.  
“I heard you were in the area. What are you up to? And I thought you were sick?” Lestrade asked you.  
“I am sick, Greg. Apparently Sherlock can’t function if I’m not in a ten foot radius of him.” You smiled.  
“I can believe that. What are you up to? Are you after this Hound of Hell, like on the telly?” Lestrade asked.  
“I’m waiting for an explanation, Inspector, why are you here?” Sherlock asked, rudely.  
“I’ve told you, I’m on holiday.” Greg smiled.  
“You’re brown as a nut. You’re clearly just back from holiday.” Sherlock said.  
“I fancied another one.” Lestrade retorted.  
“Oh, this is Mycroft, isn’t it?” Sherlock said his name with such dislike.  
“Now look…” Lestrade began to explain, as he reached for his beer on the counter.  
“One mention of Baskerville and he sends down my handler to spy on me, incognito. Is that why you’re calling yourself ‘Greg’?” Sherlock asked, everyone raised an eyebrow at him.  
“That’s his name.” You said, rudely.  
“Is it?” Sherlock asked confused.  
“Yes. If you’d ever bothered to find out. Look I’m not your handler, she is. And I just don’t do what your brother tells me.” Lestrade said, taking another sip of his beer.  
“Actually, you could be just the man we want.” John said.  
“Why?” Sherlock asked, John reached in his pocket and pulled out something. Your eyes widened as you noticed what it was.  
“This fell out of your pocket last night, Y/N. I saw you pinch it when we were checking in.” John said showing Sherlock the receipt.  
“Yeah, I thought it was an awful lot of meat for a vegetarian restaurant.” You said.  
“Excellent.” Sherlock smiled.  
“A nice, scary inspector and sergeant from Scotland Yard, who can put in a few calls, might come in very handy.” John said.  
John rang the bell at the counter and Billy and Gary the shop owners came out. They sat across from you and Lestrade as at a table as you looked through their books.  
You noticed Sherlock hand John a cup of coffee.  
“What’s this?” John asked.  
“Coffee. I made coffee.” Sherlock said.  
“You never make coffee.” John pointed out.  
“I just did. Don’t you want it?” Sherlock asked with a puppy dog look.  
“You don’t have to keep apologising. Thanks.” John said, taking the cup out of pity. You didn’t know what Sherlock was planning, but it was definitely something. John took a sip and then made a face.  
“I don’t take sugar.” John said, Sherlock sighed. John took another sip to make Sherlock feel better.  
You looked back down to the papers you were examining.  
“These records go back nearly two months.” You began.  
“Is that when you had the idea, after the TV show went out?” Lestrade finished.  
“It’s me. It was me.” Billy said, guiltily. “I’m sorry Gary. I couldn’t help it. I had a bacon sandwich at Cal’s wedding and one thing led to another.”  
You noticed Sherlock smiling and you were doing the same.  
“Nice try.” You smirked.  
“Look, we were just trying to give things a bit of a boost, you know? Let a great big dog run wild up on the moor, it was heaven-sent. It was like us having our own Loch Ness monster.” Gary said.  
“And where do you keep it?” Lestrade asked.  
“There’s an old mine shaft. It’s not too far. He was alright there.” Gary said.  
“Was?” You asked, raising an eyebrow.  
“We couldn’t control the bloody thing. It was vicious. And then, a month ago, Billy took him to the vet and, you know…” Gary said.  
“He’s dead?” John asked.  
“Put down.” Gary nodded.  
“Yeah, no choice, so it’s over.” Billy said. You stared at him, examining him. He looked nervous. He was lying.  
“It was just a joke, you know.” Gary said quietly.  
“Yeah, hilarious.” Lestrade said sarcastically, he stood from the table. “You’ve nearly driven a man out of his mind.”  
Lestrade left the room, John soon followed. You noticed Sherlock looking in John’s now empty cup as you stood. You took one more look at Billy as you left the room. He was definitely lying.  
“What are you up to?” You whispered to Sherlock on your way out the door.  
“Shh.” He whispered back and nodded with a ‘I’ll tell you later’ kind of nod.  
“So, you believe them about having the dog destroyed?” Lestrade asked Sherlock once you were all outside.  
“No reason not to.” Sherlock said. You kept to yourself about your gut feeling telling you the opposite.  
“Hopefully there was no harm done. I’m not quite sure what I’d charge them with, anyway. I’ll have a word with the local force. Alright, that’s that, then. Catch you later. I’ll see you monday, Y/N?” Lestrade asked.  
“Expect so.” You smiled and nodded as Lestrade left.  
“So that was their dog that people saw out on the moor?” John asked.  
“Looks like it.” Sherlock said.  
“But that wasn’t what you saw, that wasn’t just an ordinary dog.” John said.  
“No, it was immense. It had burning red eyes and it was glowing. It’s whole body was glowing.” Sherlock said those words as if he didn’t even believe them himself. “I’ve got a theory, but I need to get back into Baskerville to test it.”  
“How? Can’t pull off the ID trick again.” John said, and he was right.  
“Might not have to.” Sherlock said, raising his phone to his ear and beginning to speak, “Hello, brother, dear. How are you?”  
You laughed, you didn’t know how he managed it, but you were back at the gate to Baskerville.  
“I need to see Major Barrymore as soon as we get inside.” Sherlock said.  
“Right.” John said.  
“Which means you’ll have to start the search for the hound alone. In the labs, Stapleton’s first.” Sherlock told John.  
“Well, can’t Y/N help me?” John asked.  
“No, I need her to distract Dr. Frankland, he seems to be a big fan.” Sherlock said, turning back to you.


	39. Chapter 39

You were now inside Major Barrymore’s office, asking for access for an experiment. As instructed, John went to look in the labs.  
“Oh, you know I’d love to. I’d love to give you unlimited access to this place. Why not?” He said sarcastically.  
“It’s a simple enough request, Major.” Sherlock said, he hadn’t completely filled you in on his plan yet, but you knew he was using John as a guinea pig.  
“I’ve never heard of anything so bizarre.” Barrymore growled.  
“You’re to give me 24 hours, it’s what I’ve negotiated…” Sherlock began.  
“Not a second more. I may have to comply with this order, but I don’t have to like it. I don’t know what the hell you expect to find here, anyway.” Major said.  
“Perhaps the truth.” Sherlock said, now standing in the door to leave.  
“About what?” Major asked before answering his own question. “Oh, I see. The big coat should have told me. You’re one of the conspiracy lot, aren’t you? Well, then, go ahead, seek them out, the monsters, the death rays, the aliens.”  
“Have you got any of those?” Sherlock asked, after he had rolled his eyes. “Oh, just wondering.”  
“A couple. Crash landed here in the ‘60s.” Barrymore began, leaning forward in his chair. “We call them Abbott and Costello. Good luck Mr. Holmes.” Sherlock rolled his eyes as he closed the door, you were right behind him.  
You followed Sherlock into an empty lab with some monitors.  
“Are you ever going to tell me what you’re up to?” You asked Sherlock.  
“You’ll see soon.” He smirked and left the room. He returned in about 15 minutes, and you glanced down to one of the monitors. John was entering a lab with empty cages downstairs.  
“And it seems our guinea pig is in place.” You said, looking to Sherlock. He raised an eyebrow at you.  
“Oh come on, it doesn’t take a genius to figure out what you’re doing. What did you put in his drink this morning?”  
“Sugar. To see if that’s what made the two of us react in the Hollow.” Sherlock said, pulling out his phone and placing it above the microphone that projects to the lab John was in.  
You switched on the lights to the lab and Sherlock played some hound-ish noises.  
“You know if you’re wrong about his sugar think, John will probably kill you for putting him through this.” You said.  
“I don’t doubt it, but right now it’s the only logical explanation.” Sherlock said.  
You watched John react as any human would in this situation. Nothing so far to suggest anything out of the ordinary. Sherlock started to switch up the noises, and you cut his key card access. He tried to leave the room countless times, each time the machine read ‘Access Denied”. After his last attempt you cut the lights to the lab.  
John pulled a flashlight out of his pocket, he rubbed his eyes. Clearly something was affecting him, but you still had doubts it was the sugar. John walked around the lab carefully inspecting the cages. Just as Sherlock had planned, John found the cage with the door bent back.  
“You’re evil, you know that.” You said to Sherlock, jokingly. He raised an eyebrow and played growling noises through the speaker.  
Sherlock’s phone began to ring and you picked it up to hand it to him.  
“No, let it go to voicemail this time.” He said.  
You watched John go into one of the cages, now terrified. Sherlock took the time to call John and put it on speakerphone.  
“It’s here. It’s in here with me.” John whispered.  
“Where are you?” Sherlock asked casually.  
“Get me out, Sherlock, you’ve got to get me out.” John whispered. “The big lab, the first lab that we saw.”  
John heard another growl. Sherlock motioned to you that he was going to go get him, and that I was to turn on the lights when he found him.  
“John?” Sherlock asked into the phone.  
“Now, Sherlock! Please!” John said.  
“Alright, I’ll find you. Keep talking.” Sherlock said.  
“I can’t it’ll find me.” John said, fear still in his voice.  
“Keep talking. What are you seeing?” Sherlock asked.  
“I don’t know, but I can hear it now.” John said.  
“Can you see it?” Sherlock asked.  
“No, I can’t.” John said, and you played more growling sounds. “I can see it.” John said suddenly.  
Sherlock ripped the sheet off of the cage and as instructed, you switched the lights back on.  
“Are you alright, John?” Sherlock asked, pulling John out of the cage.  
“Jesus Christ! It was the hound!” John yelled, still spooked. “Sherlock, it was here, I swear it, it must… Did you see it? You must have!”  
John was rambling like a loonatic.  
“It’s alright, it’s okay now.” Sherlock said, calmingly.  
“No, it’s not! It’s not okay!” John screamed. “ I saw it, I was wrong!”  
“Hm, well, let’s not jump to conclusions.” Sherlock said.  
“What?” John asked, angrily.  
“What did you see?” Sherlock tested him.  
“I told you, I saw the hound.” John argued.  
“Huge red eyes, glowing?” Sherlock asked.  
“Yes.” John said.  
“No.” Sherlock said, smiling and shaking his head.  
“What?” John asked.  
“I made up the bit about glowing. You saw what you expected to see because I told you. You have been drugged. We have all been drugged.” Sherlock said.  
“Drugged?” John asked, he looked as if he was about to take a swing at Sherlock, so you quickly rushed down to the lab just in case.  
Sherlock and John were walking out of the lab when you arrived. Sherlock nodded to you, and you knew exactly where you all were headed.  
The three of you stepped into a lab where Dr. Stapleton was inspecting a white rabbit on a table.  
“Oh, back again? What’s on your mind this time?” She asked rudely and unwelcomingly.  
“Murder, Dr. Stapleton. Refined, cold-blooded murder.” Sherlock said, as he flipped off the lights in the lab. Your eyes grew wide as you watched the rabbit begin to glow in the dark.  
“Will you tell little Kirsty what happened to Bluebell, or shall I?” Sherlock growled.  
“Okay. What do you want?” She gave in.  
“Can I borrow your microscope?” He asked, and she looked surprised by his request.  
She showed him to a place where he could work, and you and John stood to the side watching carefully.  
He seemed to be inspecting the contents of some white crystalline substance on the glass slide. He was trying to figure out what was in it, with little notes written to the side of different atomic names.  
John had his head resting on his palm, he seemed to still be trying to wrap his head around what had just happened to him.  
“Are you two okay? You look a little peaky.” Dr. Stapleton said. John was still in shock, and you were sick.  
You were feeling better but still threw up some this morning. At first you thought it was just some residual stomach flu, but now you were worried. Was this something else? You thought it might have been morning sickness, but you would have to have been pregnant for that to happen. But that’s not possible, you just had your period… three months ago. Your eyes flashed to Sherlock quickly, the possibility scaring you. Sherlock couldn’t be a father, he could barely be a boyfriend. You shook your head and stopped worrying about something that might not even be true. You’ll get tested when you get back into London.  
“It was the GFP gene from a jellyfish, in case you’re interested.” She said.  
“What?” You asked, snapping back into reality.  
“In the rabbits.” She smiled, clearly proud of her work. You nodded.  
“Why?” John asked.  
“Why not? It was a mix-up anyway. My daughter ended up with one of the lab specimens, so poor Bluebell had to go.” She said simply.  
“Your compassion is overwhelming.” You smiled sarcastically.  
“I know. I hate myself sometimes.” She said, and she was serious.  
A loud clang, caught your attention as you looked up to see Sherlock throwing the glass slide across the lab.  
“It’s not there!” He yelled.  
“Jesus!” You jumped.  
“Nothing there! It doesn’t make any sense!” Sherlock yelled once more.  
“What were you expecting to find?” Dr. Stapleton asked.  
“A drug, of course. It has to be a drug. A hallucinogenic or a deliriant of some kind. There’s no trace of anything in the sugar.” He said, pacing.  
“Sugar. That’s what you put in his drink.” You said, referring to John.  
“Yes. A simple process of elimination. I saw the hound, saw it as my imagination expected me to see it. A genetically engineered monster. I think you saw it too Y/N, the drug must have had a stronger affect on you since you were sick and caused you to collapse. I knew I couldn’t believe the evidence of my own eyes, so there were seven possible reasons for it, the most possible being narcotics. Henry Knight saw it too, but you didn’t John. You didn’t see it. The three of us have eaten and drunk the exact same things since we got to Grimpen, apart from one thing.” Sherlock said.  
“John doesn’t take sugar in his coffee.” You finished for Sherlock, and he looked to you proudly.  
“I took it from Henry’s kitchen, his sugar. It’s perfectly all right.” Sherlock said, disappointed.  
“But maybe it’s not a drug.” John offered.  
“No, it has to be a drug. How did it get into our systems? How?” Sherlock asked, squeezing the bridge of his nose. “There has to be something. Something buried deep. Get out.”  
“What?” Dr. Stapleton asked, she was just as confused as you were.  
“Get out, I need to go to my mind palace.” Sherlock said, you rolled your eyes.  
“Your what?” She asked.  
“He’s not going to be doing much talking for a while so we may as well go.” John said, as you stood to leave.  
“No, Y/N, you stay.” Sherlock said.  
“Fine.” You sighed, knowing that if you agreed quickly you would spare yourself the long explanation.  
You sat down in front of Sherlock and propped your head up on your hands. He was looking at you with that blank stare and you knew he wasn’t really watching.  
After a few minutes you felt yourself drifting off. You couldn’t have been out for more than 15 minutes before Sherlock shook you awake.  
“I’ve got it let’s go!” Sherlock said, dragging you out of your chair and out of the lab. He began to run, and you followed.  
“Sherlock!” You yelled, running to catch up.  
You found John and Dr. Stapleton and he began to explain.  
He led you two Major Barrymore’s empty office. John stood guard at the door.  
“Project HOUND. I must have read about it, stored it away. An experiment in a CIA facility in Liberty, Indiana.”  
Dr. Stapleton sat down at the computer and tried to login and search HOUND, but the files were classified and she didn’t have access to them.  
“There has to be an override.” You offered.  
“Yeah, but that would be Major Barrymore’s.” Stapleton said. You looked around the office looking for any clues.  
“Describe him to me.” Sherlock said.  
“Uh, he’s a bloody martinet, a throw-back, the sort they’d have sent into Suez.” Stapleton said.  
“Good, excellent, old-fashioned. Traditionalist. Not the sort to use his children’s name as a password. He loves his job, proud of it and this is work related. So what’s at eye level?” Sherlock said, sitting and spinning in his chair.  
“Lots of Thatcher biographies.” You noticed.  
“So that’s the password?” Stapleton asked.  
“No, with a man like Major Barrymore only first name terms would do.” Sherlock said, beginning to type in the code.  
Margaret, he typed but you grabbed his shoulder before he pressed enter.  
“Try Maggie. Trust me just do it.” You said, and he did as you said.  
“Override accepted.” The computer read. You smiled and Sherlock raised an eyebrow to you.  
Sherlock began scrolling through all of the information. The names of the workers on the project were listed, and together their last name initials were HOUND.  
You looked at some of the photos on the screen and they almost made you sick.  
“Oh my god.” You said, turning your face.  
“Project HOUND. A new deliriant drug which rendered its users incredibly suggestible. They wanted to use it as an anti-personnel weapon, to totally disorientate the enemy using fear and stimulus. But they shut it down and hid it away in 1986.” Sherlock read.  
“Because of what it did to the subjects they tested it on… And what they did to others.” You said.  
“Prolonged exposure drove them insane. Made them almost uncontrollably aggressive.” Sherlock said.  
“So someone’s been doing it again? Carrying on the experiments?” John asked, and it was the only possible explanation.  
“Attempting to refine it, perhaps. For the last 20 years.” Sherlock said. John asked who, and you thought for a moment.  
“Cell phone.” You said, thinking out loud.  
“What?” John asked.  
“It didn’t struck me at the time, but cell phone isn’t something you hear in England too often. It’s mobile. Someone would have only said cell phone if they were used to being in America, or spent a lot of time there.” You said, pointing to someone standing in the back of the photo. Sherlock had been eyeing him too.  
“He gave us his number in case we needed him.” Sherlock said.  
“Oh, my god, Bob Frankland.” Stapleton said, shocked. “But Bob doesn’t even work on… he’s a virologist. This is chemical warfare.”  
“That’s where he started though.” You stated. “And he’s never lost the certainty, the obsession that that drug really could work.”  
“Nice of him to give us his number. Let’s arrange a little meeting.” Sherlock said, pulling the number from his coat pocket.  
As Sherlock was about to make the call, John’s phone rang. He didn’t seem to recognize the number, but he answered cautiously anyway.  
“Who’s this?” He asked.  
“It’s Louise Mortimer.” He said to us. “”Louise, what’s wrong?”  
“Where are you? Alright, stay there. We’ll get someone to you.” John said, as the call ended.  
“Henry?” You asked.  
“He’s attacked her.” John said.  
“Gone?” Sherlock asked, and John nodded.  
“There’s only one place he’ll go to. Back to where it all started.” Sherlock said, now raising his phone to his ear.  
“Lestrade? Get to the Hollow. Dewer’s Hollow, now! And bring a gun.” Sherlock spoke commandingly into his phone.


	40. Chapter 40

You, John, and Sherlock loaded back into the car and drove to the Hollow.  
You got out of the car and John ran ahead of you two.  
“Are you sure you’re okay? You know what happened last time.” Sherlock said, you rolled your eyes.  
“I’m fine, let’s go!” You ran after John, Sherlock trailing behind you.  
You made it to the Hollow and saw Henry kneeling, with a gun in his mouth. Your breath hitched in your throat.  
“No, Henry, no, no!” Sherlock yelled.  
“Get back! Get away from me!” Henry yelled, now standing and waving his gun frantically in the air. You were worried he might accidentally fire it.  
“Easy, Henry, easy. Just relax.” You tried to calm him down.  
“I know what I am, I know what I tried to do.” Henry rambled.  
“Just put the gun down, it’s okay.” You tried again.  
“No!” Henry yelled again. “I know what I am.”  
“Yes, I’m sure you do Henry. It’s all been explained to you hasn’t it. Explained very carefully.” Sherlock said calmly.  
“What?” Henry asked confused.  
“Someone needed to keep you quiet, needed to keep you as a child, to reassert the dream you both clung on to because you had started to remember. Remember now, Henry, you’ve got to remember what happened here when you were a little boy.” Sherlock instructed.  
“I thought it had got my dad. The hound. I thought… Oh, Jesus! I don’t… I don’t know anymore!” Henry yelled, waving the gun again, before placing it in his mouth.  
“No Henry! For God sake!” John yelled.  
“Henry, remember. “Liberty In.” Two words. Two words a scared little boy saw here 20 years ago. You’d started to piece things together. Remember what really happened here that night.” You said.  
“It wasn’t an animal, was it, Henry?” Sherlock asked. “Not a monster, a man.”  
Henry looked up as if he were beginning to remember again.  
“You couldn’t cope. You were just a child. So you rationalized it into something very different. Then you started to remember so you had to be stopped.” Sherlock said.  
“Driven out of your mind so that no-one would believe a word that you said.” Sherlock continued.  
“Y/N!” You heard Lestrade yell, as he entered the Hollow.  
John slowly grabbed the gun from Henry as he mumbled incoherently.  
“We saw it… a hound… last night.” He muttered.  
“No, but there was a dog, Henry. Leaving footprints, scaring witnesses, but nothing more than an ordinary dog. We both saw it, saw it as our drugged minds wanted us to see it. Fear and stimulus, that’s how it works. But there never was any monster.” Sherlock smiled as Henry began to calm down.  
It had seemed like things had calmed down, but then the sound of growls filled the hollow. John pointed his flashlight up and it landed on a large dog.  
“Sherlock?” You said, your hand grabbing his coat out of instinct.  
He looked up in disbelief.  
“No! No, no, no, no!” Henry began to mumble.  
“Henry!” Sherlock reached an arm out to him, but there was no calming him now. It was here, and you began to feel weak again.  
“Are you seeing this?” You turned around to Lestrade, whose mouth was hanging open.   
“Right, he is not drugged, Sherlock, so what’s that?” John asked.  
“It’s just a dog Henry, it’s nothing more than an ordinary dog.” Sherlock yelled. But it seemed like so much more, it had the same glowing eyes.  
The hound jumped down, slowly entering the hollow and baring its teeth. Sherlock turned to see a man walking into the other side of the hollow.  
You began to cough and fall to your knees, as the man in the gas mask got closer. Sherlock pulled off the mask but it wasn’t who you had expect to see. It didn’t make sense, there was no way your uncle Ryan could have really been here.  
“No! No, no!” Sherlock said, as surprised to see him as you were, unless he was seeing someone entirely different.  
“It’s not you, not you!” Sherlock yelled. He pulled the man by his shirt and you realized it wasn’t your uncle at all… it was Bob Franklin.  
“The fog.” Sherlock said, in realization.  
“What?” Lestrade asked.  
“It’s in the fog! The drug is in the fog. Aerosol dispersant, that’s what is said in the records. Project HOUND, it’s the fog!” Sherlock said, solving it.  
But the dog was real, and it kept getting closer. Your legs were too weak to stand, and the dog had its sights on you.  
“For God’s sake, kill it!” You croaked through a cough.  
Lestrade raised his gun and shot the dog multiple times, missing a few. It fell to the ground, dead.  
“Look Henry.” Sherlock said, making Henry look at the dog to show that it was just that.  
You bastard.” He turned around and said to Bob Franklin. He repeated himself before lunging at him.  
“Twenty years! Twenty years of my life, making no sense!” He yelled, frantically, trying to hit Bob. Lestrade quickly pulled him off.  
Sherlock helped you to your feet, and mentally asked you if you were okay. You nodded in response, not knowing if it was the truth.  
“Why didn’t you just kill me!” Henry yelled.  
You leaned into Sherlock’s side as he provided an answer. “Because dead men get listened to, he needed to do more than kill you. He had to discredit every word you ever said about your father. And he had the means right at his feet.”  
“A chemical minefield. Pressure pads in the ground, dosing you up every time that you came back here.” You said.  
“Murder weapon and scene of the crime all at once! Oh, this case, Henry. Thank you!” Sherlock laughed, and you elbowed him in the side.  
“What?” He asked, genuinely unaware.  
“Timing…” You said.  
“Not good?” He asked.  
“No, no. It’s okay. Because this means that my dad was right. He’d found something out, hadn’t he?” Henry asked, looking down to Bob Franklin.  
“And that’s why you killed him because he was right, and he’d found you right in the middle of an experiment!” Henry yelled again.  
Bob Franklin suddenly stood and began to run from the Hollow. Everyone began to run after him, but you weren’t sure what his plan was. Surely he knew he was outnumbered, and by people with guns, younger people who could outrun him.  
He continued to run as you yelled after him. Then you saw the direction he was going… He jumped the barbed wire fence and you froze.  
“No, stop! Everyone stop!” You yelled, and they obeyed.  
“We can catch him, what are you on about Y/N!” Sherlock yelled.  
“He just ran into the damn minefield!” You yelled back, everyone turn just as the explosion ripped through the air. The force pushed you all back, nearly forcing you to the ground.  
John and Lestrade brought Henry home and made sure to take away his gun. Sherlock brought you back to the room so you could get a few hours of sleep before you all left in the morning.  
“The aerosol… that must have been why you passed out. One of the chemicals in the fog must have reacted with the medication John gave you and caused you to lose consciousness.” Sherlock said, as he unlocked the door and lead you in.  
“That makes sense.” You nodded.  
“You are feeling better though, right?” Sherlock asked.  
“I guess. I still feel kind of nauseous. Maybe I just need sleep though.” You said, changing and slipping into bed.  
Sherlock kissed you on the head and you soon fell asleep.  
The next morning you were sitting outside of the Inn with John eating breakfast.  
Sherlock approached the two of you and handed you a cup of coffee.  
“Thanks.” You smiled, Sherlock smiled back.  
“So they didn’t have it put down then, the dog?” John asked.  
“Obviously.” Sherlock said.  
“Probably couldn’t bring themselves to do it.” You said.  
“I see.” Sherlock lied.  
“No you don’t.” John said.  
“No, I don’t. Sentiment?” Sherlock asked.  
“Bingo.” You smiled.  
“Listen, what happened to me in the lab?” John asked. Sherlock was now sitting down next to you. You and Sherlock shared a look, not wanting to tell John about the little experiment.  
“Do you want some sauce with that?” Sherlock asked, trying to change the subject and holding up the condiment tray.  
“I hadn’t been to the Hollow. How came I heard those things there? Fear and stimulus, you said.” John kept talking.  
“You must have been dosed with it elsewhere. When you went to the lab, maybe. You saw those pipes, pretty ancient, leaky as a sieve. And they were carrying the gas, so…” Sherlock lied.  
“Hang on. You thought it was in the sugar. You were convinced it was in the sugar.” John pointed it.  
“We’d better get going, there’s a train leaving in half an hour, so if you want…” Sherlock began, looking at his watch before being cut off by John.  
“Oh, God! It was you. You locked me in the bloody lab.” John rolled his eyes.  
“I had to, it was an experiment. But for the record, she helped.” Sherlock said.  
“Thanks for throwing me under the bus.” You smiled sarcastically.  
“An experiment!” John yelled, and Sherlock shushed him.  
“I was terrified Sherlock, I was scared to death!” John said, his voice booming.  
“I thought the drug was in the sugar, so I put the sugar in your coffee. Then arranged everything with Major Barrymore. Totally scientific, laboratory conditions, literally.” Sherlock began. “I knew what effect it had on two superior minds, so I needed to try it on an average one… You know what I mean.” Sherlock said, catching himself, you were actually quite proud.  
“But it wasn’t in the sugar.” John pointed out again.  
“No, well… I wasn’t to know you’d already been exposed to the gas.” Sherlock said, sipping his coffee.  
“So you got it wrong.” John said.  
“A bit.” Sherlock said, annoyed.  
“It won’t happen again.” You smiled.  
Sherlock now stood and looked off back towards the Inn.  
“Where are you going?” You asked.  
“Come with me, Sergeant. John we’ll just be a minute. Got to see a man about a dog.” Sherlock said, and you stood to follow him.  
After the two of you informed Gary and Bill that the dog was dead, you took a train back into London.  
John returned to Baker Street, but Sherlock accompanied you back to your flat. You were looking forward to a little rest, before returning to work. You would have never guessed that within the coming weeks you would be tested in ways you never have before.


	41. Chapter 41

Your first day back to work after returning from Baskerville had been normal. You immediately had a case to work on, a case that Sherlock would solve in no time. A painting had been stolen, The Falls of the Reichenbach by Joseph Turner. If a case stumped Scotland Yard, it no doubt was obvious to Sherlock, disappointingly simple even.  
The painting had been returned to its owner at an expensive posh gallery. You and Sherlock stood in front of the owner in the gallery with press lingering around.  
“The Falls of the Reichenbach, thankfully recovered owing to the prodigious talent of Mr. Sherlock Holmes. A small token of our gratitude.” The owner handed Sherlock a small box wrapped up in a bow. He shook it slightly.  
“Diamond cufflinks. All my cuffs have buttons.” Sherlock muttered. The owner’s mouth dropped open slightly.  
“He means thank you.” You smiled to him.  
“Do I?” Sherlock asked, turning to you.  
“Just say it.” You told him.  
“Thank you.” Sherlock said slowly and awkwardly to the gallery owner. A flash went off, a picture that was on the front page of the paper the next day.  
After that a top banker was kidnapped and yet again Scotland Yard had to secretly bring in their special weapon in the form of Mr. Holmes. The rescued man stood outside his house with his wife and son, you and Sherlock standing to the side. Due to the high profile victim, the TV cameras were rolling on this one.  
“Back together with my family, after my terrifying ordeal. And we have one person to thank for my deliverance, Sherlock Holmes.” Everyone applauded. The banker’s son handed Sherlock a small box.  
“Tie pin. I don’t wear ties.” Sherlock muttered.  
“Shh.” You smiled, as another picture of the two of you and the victim appeared in the paper the next day.  
Without a doubt, another case came in just as soon as the last one ended.  
“Peter Ricoletti. Number one on Interpol’s most wanted list since 1982. But we got him. And there’s one person we have to thank for giving us the decisive leads, with all his customary diplomacy in tact.” Lestrade said into the video camera in the same room you stood in the back of on your first day of work.  
“We all chipped in.” Lestrade said, handing Sherlock a wrapped gift. Lestrade smiled at you as Sherlock ripped it open.  
“Oh!” Sherlock fake laughed as he pulled out the deerstalker.  
“Put the hat on!” One of the reporters yelled. Sherlock looked disappointingly to you.  
“Just get it over with.” You smiled. He rolled his eyes and shoved the wrapping paper into your hands. He placed the hat on his head and everyone applauded, including Donovan, although sarcastically.  
The criminal classes seemed to be keeping you busier than ever, as if all these little cases were leading up to something. But what? Even more distressing, it seemed everywhere you went all you noticed were pregnant women. You had been feeling better, but these women seemed to be subconsciously reminding you to go buy a test. You didn’t want to, but better safe than sorry.  
You sat in your flat, waiting for the longest 5 minutes of your life, thinking nervously. You never even thought about the possibility that it would have been positive. You were on the pill, it was almost impossible for you to get pregnant, even if Sherlock had some kind of olympic swimmers. Sherlock… How would you even tell him–  
Your thoughts were interrupted by your timer going off. You stood there in shock and looked down to the plus sign. This was supposed to be a happy time in a woman’s life. It was just one test though, it could have been faulty. You promised yourself you would go to the doctor after this case to be 100% sure. Until then you tried not to think about it.  
You sat in Sherlock’s flat the day after the press conference as he read the paper. The headline: Boffin Sherlock Solves Another.  
“Boffin. Boffin Sherlock Holmes!” Sherlock grumbled, throwing the paper down onto his desk.  
“Everybody gets one.” You told him from John’s chair.  
“One what?” He asked.  
“Tabloid nickname. Don’t worry I’ll probably get one soon.” You laughed as he paced the floor in front of you in his dressing gown.  
“Page five, column six, first sentence.” Sherlock said, throwing his paper to you. You grabbed it and opened it to the instructed page.  
“Why is it always the hat photograph?” He said, punching the hat.  
“American Beauty Y/N Gregson. Flattering.” You read on as Sherlock fiddled with his hat.  
“It is a cap? Why has it got two fronts?” He rambled.  
“It’s a deerstalker.” You said, looking up from the paper. “Holmes has been unofficially romantically linked to American beauty, sergeant Y/N Gregson. Further proof of the power couple can be seen in the blog of John Watson–”  
“How do you stalk a deer with a hat? What am I going to do, throw it? Is it like some sort of death Frisbee?” Sherlock muttered.  
“We need to be more careful.” You said, though you doubted Sherlock was listening.  
“It’s got flaps. Ear flaps. It’s an ear hat, Y/N.” Sherlock threw the hat to you and you caught it.  
“What do you mean, more careful?” Sherlock asked.  
“I mean, this isn’t a deerstalker now. It’s a Sherlock Holmes hat. I mean that you’re not exactly a private detective anymore. You’re basically famous.” You told him.  
“Oh, it’ll pass.” Sherlock sighed and sat in his chair opposite from you.  
“It better pass. The press will turn, Sherlock. They always turn, and they’ll turn on you.” You nagged him.  
“It really bothers you?” Sherlock asked.  
“What?” You wondered.  
“What people say about me. I don’t understand. Why would it upset you?” Sherlock asked, genuinely confused.  
“Because I love you, you idiot, that’s why. Just try to keep a low profile. Find yourself a little case this week, stay out of the news.” You put the deerstalker down, and gathered your stuff to go to work.  
After the deerstalker ordeal it had seemed that there was a lull between cases, so you had scheduled an appointment with a local OB-GYN. You were going to go on your lunch break today. That was before you got the call. You were sitting at your desk at Scotland Yard, waiting nervously for your lunch break when your desk phone rang. Your eyes opened wide when you heard the news. You marched into Lestrade’s office.  
“Sir, there’s been a break-in.” You told him.  
“Not our division.” He said, with his feet up on his desk and a donut in his hand.  
“You’ll want it.” You smiled.  
You rushed to the car where Lestrade began to drive to the Tower of London.  
“Hacked into the Tower of bloody London’s security? How?” Lestrade yelled, and your phone rang again.  
“Tell them we’re already on our way.” Lestrade said.  
“There’s been another one. Another break-in.” Lestrade shook his head in disbelief. “Bank of England.”  
Your phone rang again.  
“Where is it now?” Lestrade asked.  
“Pentonville Prison.” You said.  
“Oh, no!” Lestrade groaned.  
Lestrade’s car screeched to a halt in front of the tower, sirens blaring.  
Once inside, you found Jim Moriarty wearing the Crown Jewels, sitting on the throne. Shattered glass scattered the floor all around him. Needless to say, you missed your doctor’s appointment.  
Once Moriarty was in custody, you called Sherlock. He knew something was wrong just by the fact that you called, you usually just texted or met in person.  
You, Lestrade, and Sherlock all stood around the CCTV screen, watching Moriarty from minutes before.  
“That glass is tougher than anything…” Lestrade said.  
“Not tougher than crystallised carbon.” Sherlock remarked.  
“He used a diamond.” You gathered.  
Lestrade reversed the film until it showed what Moriarty had written on the glass moments before smashing it. ‘GET SHERLOCK’  
Your phone suddenly vibrated with a text and you stepped away from Lestrade and Sherlock. You unlocked your phone and your eyes grew wide.  
Don’t think I’ve forgotten about you. Sherlock may be oblivious but I’m not. -JM  
Attached was a photo of you buying a pregnancy test.  
You could feel Sherlock’s eyes on you.  
“What is it?” He asked, curiously and demandingly.  
“Nothing.” You replied, shoving your phone back in your pocket and turning your attention back to the CCTV feed. Deep down you were terrified. James Moriarty was not someone to take lightly, he might not like to get his hands dirty but he sure doesn’t mind calling the shots and racking up a body count.  
Sherlock’s eyes were still on you, but you acted as if nothing had happened. You were living in denial, but leave it to Jim Moriarty to remind you. A small part of you didn’t believe you were pregnant, but a larger part knew it was true but wasn’t ready to face it.


	42. Chapter 42

Within a few days Moriarty was to be tried at the Old Bailey, and Sherlock was named a witness for the prosecution. You stood in his living room, putting your coat on and preparing to leave for the court house. The police were escorting Sherlock there, so you had come to pick him up.  
“Ready?” You asked, as you were about to open the door, knowing there would be a bunch of press outside.  
“Yes.” He answered and you pulled the door open. You had brought some officers, to keep the press at bay, to let Sherlock and you get to the car safely and efficiently.  
Sherlock opened the door for you and you slid in the back before him. He closed the door and the car was off.  
“Remember–” you began before Sherlock cut you off.  
“Yes.” He said quickly. You were supposed to brief him and make sure he didn’t do anything stupid.  
“Remember. Don’t try to be clever–” You began but he cut you off again. You wondered if he was nervous.  
“No.” He turned to look outside of the car.  
“And please, just keep it simple and brief.” You pleaded.  
“God forbid the star witness in the trial should come across as intelligent.” He whined.  
“Intelligent, fine. Just try not to be a smartass. I don’t want to have to bail you out because you couldn’t control your mouth and the judge threw you in contempt of court.” You said.  
“I’ll just be myself.” Sherlock stated.  
“Are you listening to me? Sherlock, please.” you sighed, and the car pulled up to the Old Bailey. You left him to go find John. He was already seated, so you cat down next to him.  
“How is he?” He asked.  
“I think he’s going to be okay. We’ll see if he behaves himself.” You smiled, and the trial had begun.  
“A consulting criminal.” The Barrister began, Sherlock was now on the stand after some opening statements.  
“Yes.” Sherlock replied.  
“Your words, can you expand on the answer?” She asked.  
“James Moriarty is for hire.” Sherlock said, keeping his answer simple, behaving thus far.  
“A tradesman?” the barrister asked.  
“Yes.” Sherlock answered.  
“But not the sort who’d fix your heating.” she clarified.  
“No, the sort who’d plant a bomb or stage an assassination, but I’m sure he’d make a pretty decent job of your boiler.” Sherlock said, eliciting a laugh from everyone.  
“So far so good.” You whispered to John, he nodded.  
“Would you describe him as–” the barrister began but was cut off by Sherlock.  
“Leading.” He said shortly.  
“What?” she asked, surprised.  
“Can’t do that. You’re leading the witness. He’ll object and the judge will uphold.” Sherlock said.  
“Mr. Holmes!” The judge sighed.  
“Ask me how. How would I describe him? What opinion have I formed of him? Did they not teach you this?” He asked rudely.  
“I think you jinxed it.” John whispered to you as you shook your head when Sherlock looked up to you.  
“Mr. Holmes, we’re fine without your help.” the judge scolded.  
“How would you describe this man, his character?” The barrister asked.  
“First mistake, James Moriarty isn’t a man at all. He’s a spider. A spider at the center of a web. A criminal web with a thousand threads and he knows precisely how each and every single one of them dances.” Sherlock said grimly.  
Suddenly a woman in a posh skirt with her hair in braids sat down next to you.  
“Sergeant Gregson?” She asked, and you turned to look at her. “Kitty Riley from the Sun.”  
You shook her hand that she had stuck out, just to be polite. You looked her up and down, deducing her.  
“I’m not going to give you a quote, and neither is Sherlock, though you’ve already tried him haven’t you.” You whispered and rolled your eyes.  
“You and Sherlock. Just platonic? Can I put you down for a no there as well?” She asked.  
“I know how it feels Kitty. Waiting to be noticed, waiting for your big break. A woman in a man’s world. But you’re wasting your time here.” You told her, turning your attention back to the case.  
“And how long–” The banister began again.  
“No, no, don’t… Don’t do that. That’s really not a good question.” Sherlock rolled his eyes.  
“Mr. Holmes.” The judge scolded again.  
“How long have I known him? Not really your best line of enquiry. We met twice, five minutes in total. I pulled a gun. He tried to blow me up. I felt we had a special something.” Sherlock said.  
Moriarty smirked and turned his head until it landed on you, his eyes glaring into your soul.  
“Miss Sorrel, are you seriously claiming this man is an expert? After knowing the accused for just five minutes?” The judge asked. She was about to answer when Sherlock spoke.  
“Two minutes would have made me an expert. Five was ample.” Sherlock said.  
“Mr. Holmes, that’s a matter for the jury.” The judge argued.  
“Oh, really.” Sherlock said, looking over to them.  
“Oh, no.” You whispered.  
“What?” John asked.  
“I’m not overly fond of what follows.” You said, placing your head in your hands.  
“One librarian, two teachers, two high-pressure jobs, probably the city. Foreman’s a medical secretary, trained abroad, judging by her shorthand. Seven are married and two are having an affair, with each other it would seem. Oh, and they’ve just had tea and biscuits. Would you like to know who ate the wafer?” Sherlock said.  
“Mr. Holmes. You’ve been called here to answer Miss Sorrel’s questions, not to give us a display of your intellectual prowess. Keep your answers brief and to the point. Anything else will be treated as contempt. Do you think you could survive for just a few minutes, without showing off?” The judge yelled.  
You knew it was impossible for him not to, so as you had predicted, you were up at 6am, bailing Sherlock out of jail. You leaned against the counter as Sherlock sighed the papers.  
“I told you your mouth would get you in trouble some day…” You said, slightly annoyed that he didn’t listen to you, but also not surprised.  
“I can’t just turn it on and off like a tap.” He said, pulling his phone out of a baggy where it spent the night.  
“Well? You were there for the whole thing. Up in the gallery, start to finish.” Sherlock said.  
“Like you said it would be. Sat on his backside the whole time, never even stirred. Moriarty’s not mounting any defence.” You said, talking about his attorney.  
You took Sherlock back to his flat.  
“Three of the most secure places in the country, and he still managed to break into all of them within five minutes apart, if that.” You said, sitting back on the couch, exhausted.  
“I don’t get why. He wanted to be caught. He’d have the jewels if he wanted to, the prisoners would be freed if he wanted to. Then why do it, what message is he trying to send with this?” You asked.  
“Somehow this is part of his scheme.” Sherlock said.  
You returned to your flat to attempt to get a good night’s sleep, but you knew you wouldn’t. You also knew that after this trial you might be extremely busy and never get a chance to go to the doctors. You needed to take the day and go tomorrow, during the verdict. John would be there scouting for Sherlock, so there was no need for you to be there and it gave you time to do what you needed to.  
The next morning you woke up, luckily to no morning sickness. You took a cab to the doctor, and approached the receptionist.  
“Hi, my name is Y/N Gregson, I had an appointment with Dr. Shephard a few days ago, but I missed it with a work emergency, I work for Scotland Yard. Is there anyway she can fit me in real quick today?” You asked.  
“Why don’t you have a seat and we’ll call you in a few minutes.” The receptionist nurse smiled.  
You sat nervously for a few minutes before the nurse called your name. A woman, who you could only assume was Dr. Shephard was standing at the counter with her.  
“If you’d like to follow me Ms. Gregson.” She smiled and lead you back into a room and motioned for you to sit down.  
“I was worried when you didn’t make your appointment, but then I saw the news and I put two and two together, Sergeant Gregson. How’s the trial going on that Moriarty man?” She asked, making small talk.  
“Well the verdict is today, but they’d be crazy not to find him guilty. He was caught on the security cameras and he is mounting no defense.” You answered.  
“Anyway, what brings you in here today? It’s not everyday we get our own little celebrity in here.” She smiled.  
“Well, you see I think, that maybe, possibly I could be…” You stumbled over your words.  
“You think you’re pregnant, but you’re not sure so you want a blood test.” She helped.  
“Yes.” You nodded nervously.  
“This will only take a minute, then you can be on your way. We’ll send your blood to the lab then we will call you sometime later today with the results.” She said and you nodded.  
Your phone rang as you were about to have your blood taken, you looked at it then back up at the doctor.  
“Go ahead and take it, we can do this while you work.” she smiled, you nodded and answered the phone while she inserted the needle.  
“What’s the news John?” You asked through the phone.  
“Not guilty!! They found him not guilty!” He yelled, and your eyes went wide.  
“Did you tell Sherlock?” you asked.  
“Yes I just told him, this is insane. Where were you? I thought you would definitely be there for the verdict.” John asked.  
“I had a prior engagement. John I can’t really talk right now, but thanks for letting me know.” You said, hanging up the phone.  
“We’re all done here Sergeant, if you would leave your number at the desk on your way out so we could contact you with the results.” She smiled, and lead you out the door. You were still in shock that Moriarty was a free man.  
“I just need your contact information Sergeant.” The nurse at the desk asked, pushing a paper and pen towards you.  
“Of course.” You filled out the paper quickly, sliding it back to her.  
“Thank you…” you looked to her name tag. “Mary.”  
You hailed a cab and headed to Baker Street. You decided you weren’t going to tell Sherlock anything until you knew for sure.


	43. Chapter 43

When you arrived you suspiciously found the door unlocked, and heard voices upstairs.  
“Sherlock did you know your door was unlocked–” You said, walking into his sitting room but stopping in your tracks when you saw James Moriarty sitting in Sherlock’s chair.  
Sherlock looked to you from John’s chair, a worried look on his face.  
“Y/N/N, why don’t you have a seat, join us. Have you told your little friends yet?” Moriarty said, first motioning to the couch then turning his conversation back to Sherlock.  
“Told them what?” Sherlock asked, his hands folded in prayer position.  
“Why I broke into all those places and never took anything?” James asked.  
“No.” Sherlock muttered.  
“But you understand.” Jim smirked.  
“Obviously.” Sherlock said.  
“Off you go, then.” Jim said as he fiddled with an apple and a pocket knife.  
“You want me to tell you what you already know?” Sherlock asked.  
“No, I want you to prove that you know it.” Jim said, you sat awkwardly on the couch, sitting in the middle of this cock fight.  
“You didn’t take anything because you don’t need to. You’ll never need to take anything ever again.” Sherlock said.  
“Very good. Because…” James said, urging him to continue.  
“Because nothing, nothing in the Bank of England, the Tower of London, or Pentonville Prison could possibly match the value of the key that could get you into all three.” Sherlock said and your eyes went wide.  
“I can open any door anywhere with a few tiny lines of computer code. No such thing as a private bank account now. They’re all mine,” James began then turned his head to you.  
“No such thing as secrecy, I own secrecy.” He smirked at you, you frowned in disgust.  
“Nuclear codes, I could blow up NATO in alphabetical order. In a world of locked rooms, the man with the key is king. And honey, you should see me in a crown.” James smiled.  
“You were advertising all the way through the trail, you were showing the world what you can do.” Sherlock said.  
“And you were helping. Big client list. Rouge government, intelligence communities, terror cells. They all want me, suddenly I’m Mr. Sex.” James said, and you saw the disappointed look on Sherlock’s face. He was played by Moriarty, he was inadvertently helping him.  
“You could break any bank. What do you care about the highest bidder?” You asked, and he turned to you and smirked before answering.  
“I don’t. I just like to watch them all competing. ‘Daddy loves me the best!’ Aren’t ordinary people adorable?” James said before turning back to Sherlock. “Well, you know. You’ve got John, and Y/N/N you’re moderately ordinary. You have feelings, weaknesses, your mind may be a match for Sherlock’s but you let emotions get in the way. Love. How cute, I should get myself a live-in one. It would be so funny.” Jim said, fearful tears were filling up your eyes but not daring to spill.  
“Why are you doing this? You don’t want money or power, not really. What is it all for?” Sherlock asked, you could tell he was angry from the way Jim spoke to you.  
“I want to solve the problem. Our problem. The final problem. It’s going to start very soon Sherlock. The fall. But don’t be scared. Falling’s just like flying except there’s a more permanent destination.” Jim said, and it gave you chills. Sherlock stood, keeping his composure but you could tell something was off. He was afraid that Moriarty was threatening his one weakness- you.  
“I never liked riddles.” Sherlock said, Jim stood too.  
“Learn to. Because I owe you a fall, Sherlock. I owe you.” Jim said cryptically before leaving the room. Sherlock moved to grab the apple that James was messing with. He turned it to reveal that ‘IOU’ was carved into it.  
You stood cautiously before speaking, “Sherlock…”  
“Leave, I need to think.” Sherlock said, turning his back to you.  
“But it’s important.” You said forcefully, preparing to tell him.  
“More important than this? Go!” He yelled. You took a step back in shock. He had never spoken to you like this before. Moriarty had angered him, and he thought that by pushing you away he could keep you safe… Little did he know that the safest place for you was right next to him.  
You did as he said, and as you closed the door to 221B a sleek black car pulls up. You rolled your eyes and got in the car. Once the car pulled to a stop and you entered the building you noticed the silence in the room and looked around curiously, before a man emerged to take you back to Mycroft.  
“Hello Mycroft.” You said as you noticed him.  
“Y/N,” he nodded as the door was closed and you were now alone. You noticed a copy of today’s SUN sitting on his table, you picked it up.  
“You read this stuff?” You asked with a smile.  
“Caught my eye.” He said, you sat down across from him and began scanning the front page. There had to be something about Sherlock in here, otherwise Mycroft would never have bothered with it.  
“Saturday, they’re doing a big expose.” Mycroft said, you read the headline. Sherlock: The Shocking Truth. Close Friend Richard Brook Tells All. You read on, Super-sleuth Sherlock Holmes has today been exposed as a fraud in a revelation that will shock his newfound base of adoring fans. The story was written by Kitty Riley.  
“She was at the trial, tried to get information from Sherlock and I. Richard Brook? I’m assuming he’s not a school friend.” You said, looking up to Mycroft with a smirk.  
“Of Sherlock’s?” He laughed. “But that’s not why I asked you here.”  
Mycroft picked up a few files and handed one to you. You opened it and noticed that it was an assassin. He looked oddly familiar.  
“Know him?” Mycroft asked.  
“No, but he looks familiar.” You said.  
“He’s taken a flat in Baker Street two doors down from Sherlock.” Mycroft said, and you read on in the file.  
“Sulejmani. Albanian hit squad.” You read.  
“Expertly trained killer, living directly between you and Sherlock.” Mycroft said, before handing you some more files. “Dyachenko, Ludmila.”  
“Russian.” You said, taking the file. “I’m sensing a pattern here.”  
“In fact, four top international assassins relocated within spitting distance of 221B.” Mycroft said.  
“You think this is Moriarty?” You asked.  
“He promised Sherlock he would come back.” Mycroft said.  
“If Moriarty had wanted him dead, then he would be dead.” You argued.  
“If not Moriarty, then who?” Mycroft asked, and he had a point, but you didn’t think these assassins were put there to kill Sherlock.  
“You know you could just talk to Sherlock, since you’re so concerned about him.” You smiled, knowing he wouldn’t.  
“Too much history between us, Y/N. Old scores, resentments.” Mycroft said, you laughed.  
“You know one day you two are going to have to get over that. He needs you, maybe now more than ever. He’s pushing me away too. He thinks he can do this on his own but he can’t. Mycroft, you know how much I respect you. But if you can’t be honest with me then I can’t help you. What aren’t you telling me?” You asked him.  
“What aren’t you telling me?” He raised an eyebrow.  
“What do you mean?” You asked surprised.  
“Moriarty is obsessed, he’s sworn to destroy his only rival. To get to Sherlock, he might get to you. I know he’s been in contact with you, can I see it?” Mycroft asked, wanting to see the text Moriarty had sent you.  
“You already know what it says Mycroft…” You said, looking to the floor.  
“Is it true?” He asked. A tear rolled down your cheek.  
“I haven’t told Sherlock yet.” You cried. He sat back in his chair and sighed.  
“You know what’s coming… Between him and Moriarty. Do me a favor… Don’t tell him.” Mycroft said, surprising you.  
“Don’t tell him? Are you serious?” You almost yelled.  
“He doesn’t need another distraction.” Mycroft said, but what he meant was it would make it harder for him to let go.  
“Trust me, please.” Mycroft begged. You were hesitant, but ultimately, you wanted, needed Sherlock to defeat Moriarty, so if this is what it took.  
“What if he deduces it?” You asked.  
“He won’t. You and I both know he has trouble reading you, he always has.” Mycroft announced. Your phone buzzed, a text from Lestrade.  
Kidnapping, need you now at 221B. Important!  
It was typed in a hurry, meaning it must have been someone important. You stood to leave.  
“I need to go to work… Mycroft I’m trusting you on this. Prove to me I made the right decision.” You said, leaving the room.  
“I always protect my family!” He called after you. That’s when it really struck you. Not only was this Sherlock’s son, but Mycroft’s niece or nephew. He cared about you and this child too.


	44. Chapter 44

Mycroft’s car brought you back to 221 where John stood at the front door opening a letter. You rushed up the stairs and into the sitting room.  
“Where’ve you been?” Lestrade asked.  
“Mycroft.” Sherlock said, after looking you up and down. Your breath hitched in your throat, for someone who had trouble reading you, he sure always knew when you were with Mycroft.  
Lestrade had sent you the files so you read them in the car on the way here. Rufus Bruhl, the Ambassador to the US had two children. Max and Claudette, aged seven and nine, went to a boarding school named St. Aldate’s in Surrey. School ended, all the other boarders went home. Just a few kids remained, including those two. The kids have vanished, and the ambassador had asked for Sherlock personally. The reichenbach hero.  
You drove out to the boarding school, an hour drive that was extremely awkward. Sherlock and John were in the back, you in the front and Lestrade driving. You were still mad at Sherlock for yelling at you and pushing you away. You thought you had proved by now that two of you on a case was better than one. You were in this together, or so you thought…  
Once you arrived at the boarding school you saw the house mistress who Lestrade said was Miss MacKenzie. He also told Sherlock to go easy on her.  
“Miss MacKenzie. You’re in charge of pupil welfare, yet you left this place wide open last night. What are you, an idiot, a drunk or a criminal? Now quickly, tell me!” Sherlock yelled, ripping her shock blanket off. That caught the attention of you and Lestrade, who both turned back to see completely out of line. What was wrong with him? First you, then this poor old lady. You didn’t know what Moriarty did to him, but something was definitely up.  
“All the door and windows were properly bolted. No one, not even me, went into their room last night. You have to believe me.” She said nervously. You began to march towards Sherlock.  
“I do. I just wanted you to speak quickly. Miss MacKenzie will need to breathe into a bag now.” Sherlock said, and you followed him in shock.  
“What’s wrong with you?” You asked as you followed him up the stairs.  
“No idea what you mean.” Sherlock said.  
“Really, so we’re going to pretend like nothing happened this morning.” You said.  
“I needed to think, you would have just distracted me. What did Mycroft want?” Sherlock asked, changing the subject.  
“There was no need to scream at me. And what Mycroft and I talk about isn’t your business.” You said.  
“It could be my business.” Sherlock said.  
“Yes it could, if you would just get over this childish feud and accept your brother’s help.” You said.  
“Hmm, nope.” Sherlock said, “Are you expecting me to apologize?”  
“No, I know you better than that. It would be nice though if you realized that just maybe I could help you with this Moriarty thing.” You argued.  
“I don’t want you to get hurt by him.” Sherlock said, walking into the empty girls dorm.  
“Don’t you think we’re a little past that.” You said quietly, ending the conversation.  
“Six grand a term, you’d expect them to keep the kids safe for you.” John said as he entered the room.  
“They were the only two sleeping on this floor. Absolutely no sign of a break-in. The intruder must have been hidden inside someplace.” You said as Sherlock was opening and closing drawers and looking under the bed.  
Sherlock picked up an envelope and pulled out a copy of Grimm Fairy Tales.  
“Show me where the brother slept.” Sherlock said, standing and moving towards the door.  
You walked down the hall and into a new room, the door creaked as it opened.  
“The boy sleeps there every night, gazing at the only light source outside i the corridor. He’d recognize every shape, every outline. The silhouette of everyone who came to the door.” Sherlock said, pointing to the door.  
“Okay, so?” Lestrade asked.  
“So someone approaches the door who he doesn’t recognize. An intruder, maybe he can even see the outline of a weapon. What would he do in the precious few seconds before they came into the room? How would he use them if not to cry out?” You spoke, taking the words out of Sherlock’s mouth as if you had something to prove.  
“This little boy, this particular little boy, who reads all of those spy books. What would he do?” Sherlock said, walking over to the side of the boys bed. He seemed to notice what you were doing, you were showing off, showing him he wasn’t the only intelligent one around here, and showing him that you could help.  
Sherlock began sniffing around until he found what he was smelling.  
“Get Anderson.” He said, which surprised everyone. Sherlock was holding an empty glass bottle.  
You stepped out of the room to call Anderson, knowing he might respond better to you. Nevertheless the crime scene was an hour away, so he might need some convincing. He also hates working cases with Sherlock, but you didn’t blame him for that part.  
“Phillip, we need your help.” You said into the phone once he answered.  
“Where?” He asked.  
“Surrey, St. Aldate’s Boarding School. Also you’re going to need to bring some black lights.” You said.  
“He’s working this one isn’t he?” Anderson asked.  
“Yup, but he asked for you specifically so you know it’s important.” You said into the phone.  
“Well I better get going, you know Sherlock Holmes doesn’t like to be kept waiting.” Anderson said, and you laughed as you walked back into the room. Sherlock looked at you suspiciously.  
“Thanks Phillip.” you said, hanging up.  
“Phillip?” Sherlock asked.  
“Well that is his name.” You argued and Sherlock rolled his eyes.  
Once Anderson and his team arrived everyone got to work. The windows were blacked out to keep out the lights and the black lights were switched on.  
“Linseed oil.” Sherlock said, holding the light up to the wall to reveal a finger drawn message left by the little boy ‘HELP US’.  
“Not much use. Doesn’t lead us to the kidnapper.” Anderson said.  
“Brilliant, Anderson.” Sherlock said.  
“Really?” He asked surprised.  
“Yes, brilliant impression of an idiot.” Sherlock said and you rolled your eyes.  
“The floor.” You pointed, seeing the illuminated footprints.  
“He made a trail for us.” John said, and you nodded.  
“The boy was made to walk ahead of him.” Sherlock said.  
“On tiptoe?” John asked.  
“Indicates anxiety.” You and Sherlock said at the same time, and looked up to each other in surprise. You raised an eyebrow in a sort of ‘see I can do it too’ way. You looked back down to the footprints.  
“Gun held to his head. The girl was pulled beside him, dragged sideways.” you said, following the trail out into the hall.  
“That’s the end of it. We don’t know where they went from here. Tells us nothing after all.” Anderson said, annoyed.  
“You’re right Anderson. Nothing. Except his shoe size, his height, his gait, his walking pace.” Sherlock said, ripping the shade from the window as Anderson walked away.  
Sherlock bent down to the ground, pulling out his tools and a plastic container. He chuckled, like he was enjoying this.  
“Having fun?” You asked, kneeling next to him.  
“Starting to.” Sherlock said.  
“Maybe don’t do the smiling. Kidnapped children?” You reminded him. He began scraping the floor and collecting it in the container, wanting to figure out whatever he could about where this man had been and what resided in his shoe print.  
You knew Sherlock’s next stop was the lab at Barts. Lestrade drove everyone back into town.  
“How did he get past the CCTV if all the doors were locked?” John asked as we were driving.  
“He walked in when they weren’t locked.” You answered.  
“But a stranger can’t just walk into a school like that.” John argued.  
“Anyone can walk in anywhere if they pick the right moment. Yesterday, end of term, parents milling around, chauffeurs, staff. What’s one more stranger among that lot.” Sherlock said.  
“He was waiting for them. All he had to do was find a place to hide.” You said, as you were approaching Barts. The three of you entered the building, Lestrade instructing you to keep him updated.  
As you were about to enter the lab, you saw Molly leaving, or at least attempting to.  
“Molly” Sherlock said cheerfully.  
“Oh, hello. I’m just going out.” She said, trying to walk past you.  
“No you’re not.” Sherlock said, turning her around and walking towards the lab.  
“I’ve got a lunch date.” She protested.  
“Cancel it. You’re having lunch with us. Need your help.” He said.  
“What?” She asked surprised.  
“It’s one of your boyfriends, we’re trying to track him down. He’s been a bit naughty.” You smiled fakely. You and Molly didn’t really get along well. She had basically called you a whore, but you understood that Sherlock needed her help.  
“Its Moriarty.” John asked confused.  
“Of course it’s Moriarty.” Sherlock said.  
“Jim actually wasn’t even my boyfriend. We went out three times. I ended it.” She said proudly.  
“Yes, and then he stole the Crown Jewels, broke into the Bank of England, and organized a prison break at Pentonville. For the sake of law and order I suggest you avoid all future attempts at a relationship, Molly.” You said, smiling, before turning on your heel and strutting into the lab.


	45. Chapter 45

Once in the lab Sherlock pulled out the plastic container he used at the crime scene. You sat across from him and pulled out the original case file and evidence photographs.  
“Oil, Y/N.” He said, and you looked up to him. “The oil in the kidnapper’s footprint. It’ll lead us to Moriarty. All the chemical traces on his shoe have been preserved. The sole of the shoe is like a passport. If we’re lucky, we can see everything that he’s been up to.”  
You were now reading through the file and lists of possible enemies for the ambassador and seeing if you could make any connections. If there was anything you had missed the first time in your rushed reading in the car.  
You had felt like you were going to be sick. A little late for morning sickness, maybe the baby was on American time and it was morning there. You slipped out of the room unnoticed and into the bathroom, then you noticed you had left your phone in the lab.  
While you were out, John was looking at the crime scene photos when your phone rang and he answered it, noticing you had left the room.  
“Hi, this is Mary Morstan from Dr. Shepherd’s office calling to let you know the results from your blood test were in.” The nurse on the phone spoke.  
“Actually Y/N’s not here right now, can I take a message?” John asked, beginning to leave the room to find you.  
“Tell her congratulations, and if she wants to know the sex she can call us back. Thanks.” The nurse said, ending the call. John is shocked, and trying to find you when you walked out of the bathroom.  
“Oh, John, you scared me.” You laughed when you nearly ran into him. He held up your phone and your smile faded.  
“Your doctor called, they said congratulations.” He said, still in shock.  
“John please, keep your voice down–” You said but he cut you off.  
“You’re seriously pregnant? And Sherlock is the father?” You grilled you like a disappointed parent.  
“Well he has to be, there’s been no one else John. But you have to promise me you won’t tell him. I’ll tell him in my own time, when I’m ready. Right now all I care about is finding those kids.” You said, beginning to walk away from him.  
“Y/N,” he called and you turned around to face him, “If it’s any consolation, you’ll make a great mother.”  
You got teary for a moment before walking back towards him and hugging him. You thanked him and began to return to the lab. Once inside, you and John were looking at the photos again. He stopped on the one with the seal from the envelope.  
“Sherlock?” He said.  
“Hmm?” Sherlock looked up from his work.  
“This envelope, it was in her trunk. There’s another one.” John said, walking to get it out of his coat.  
“I remember, you were opening it when I came back from Mycroft’s.” You said, looking at John.  
“You really go see him a lot don’t you.” John said.  
“That’s beside the point, are they the same?” You asked, referring to the envelopes.  
“Yes, look at that. Exactly the same seal.” John said, handing it to you. You examined it before passing it to Sherlock..  
“Breadcrumbs.” Sherlock said. “A little trace of bread crumbs, hardback copy of fairy tales.”  
“Hansel and Gretel.” You said.  
“What sort of kidnapper leaves clues.” John asked.  
“The sort that likes to boast. The sort that thinks it’s all a game. He sat in our flat and he said these exact words to me. ‘All fairy tales need a good old-fashioned villain’.” Sherlock said.  
“The fifth substance. It’s part of the tale. At the witch’s house. PGPR!” He said, jumping up out of his chair.  
“What’s that?” John asked.  
“It’s used in making chocolate.” You said, running after Sherlock.  
The three of you hailed a cab back to Scotland Yard, and as you rushed up to your floor, Lestrade greeted you. You had told him you were on your way. He held out a piece of a paper to Sherlock.  
“This fax arrived an hour ago.” He said, and you looked over his shoulder to see the paper. ‘Hurry up they’re dying!’  
“What have you got for us?” Lestrade asked.  
“We need to find a place in the city where all five of these things intersect.” Sherlock said, handing Lestrade the list of what he had gotten from the footprint.  
“Chalk, asphalt, brick dust, vegetation. What the hell is this? Chocolate?” Lestrade read.  
“I think we’ll be looking for a disused sweet factory.” Sherlock said.  
“We need to narrow that down. A sweet factory with asphalt?” Lestrade asked, Donovan now joining us on the case.  
“No, no, no. Too general. Need something more specific, chalk, chalky clay. That’s a far thinner band of geology.” Sherlock said, before looking off into the distance. He muttered something about a building site and bricks from the 1950s.  
“There’s thousands of building sites in London.” Lestrade said, stressfully running his hands over his face.  
“I’ve got people out looking.” Sherlock said.  
“So have I!” Lestrade argued.  
“Homeless network. Faster than the police. Far more relaxed about taking bribes.” Sherlock said, receiving an eyeroll from Anderson who was sitting at his desk.  
Sherlock’s phone buzzed, and he began processing all the information coming in from his homeless network.  
“Addlestone!” Sherlock suddenly yelled.  
“What?” Lestrade asked.  
“There’s a mile of disused factories between the river and the park. It matches everything.” Sherlock said.  
“Alright, come on. Come on!” Lestrade yelled, rushing to leave and go find those kids. Addlestone was an hour away, even in a police car with sirens blaring. You just prayed those kids would be okay.  
When you got to the factory, everyone ran inside with flashlights. You split of from Sherlock and John, searching on your own.  
“They’re still here!” You heard Sherlock yell.  
You kept searching, looking around every corner, until your eyes landed on a little girl looking up at you, and a boy curled up next to her who appeared to be unconscious.  
“Over here!” you yelled and you could hear footsteps rushing towards you.  
You bent over and checked that the boy had a pulse, which was faint, but there. The girl looked terrified, and latched onto you, wrapping her arms around your neck and crying into your shoulder.  
“I’ve got you, don’t worry.” You rubbed her back.  
Sherlock was the first to turn the corner and see you, with Lestrade behind him. Your medical team came to take the boy away to the hospital, but the girl wouldn’t let go of you.  
“Is she alright?” Sherlock asked, you nodded. You knew she needed to be taken to the hospital to be check out.  
You began walking to the ambulance with Sherlock, where the brother was now being loaded in. You tried to pull the girl from you, but she wouldn’t budge.  
“Claudette, you have to go with your brother now, they have to make sure you’re okay.” You said softly to her. She lifted her head until her tear filled face was in front of you.  
“I promise I’ll be there after they’re done okay.” You spoke again, and she nodded. You placed her back on the ground and Lestrade wrapped a blanket around her before your medical team took her to the hospital with her brother.  
You walked back towards the car with Sherlock to go back to the station.  
“What happened to them?” You asked him.  
“Chocolate wrappers painted with mercury. The more they ate, the sicker they got.” Sherlock said, and you looked to the ground and signed.  
“He’s not here, then. He could be a thousand miles away by now.” You said, getting into the car.  
“Are you alright?” Sherlock asked once you both got in the car.  
“I don’t think I’ll ever forget the look on her face. She was so scared, and she just latched onto me.” You said, maybe it was the hormones, but seeing Claudette just broke your heart.


	46. Chapter 46

You made it back to the station after an hour or two. You sat down in a chair outside the interrogation room and Sherlock paced next to you. Lestrade and Donovan were in there now with Claudette and a social worker, the brother was still in the ICU.  
The door opened and Donovan strutted out.  
“Right then, the professionals are finished if the amateurs want to go in and have their turn.” Donovan said rudely to Sherlock.  
“Now, remember that she’s in shock and she’s just seven years old so… Anything you can do to–” Lestrade began before Sherlock spoke.  
“Not be myself.” Sherlock finished.  
“Yeah.” Lestrade said. “Might be helpful.”  
Sherlock turned his coat collar down and walked into the room in front of you.  
“Claudette, I–” Sherlock said before she started to scream. “No, no, I know it’s been hard for you, Claudette. Listen to me.”  
She kept screaming and pointing to Sherlock, and he didn’t understand why.  
“Out! Now!” You dragged Sherlock out of the room, not wanting to cause anymore pain to Claudette.  
“Makes no sense.” John said.  
“Kids traumatized. Something about Sherlock reminds her of the kidnapper.” Lestrade said. Oh, Moriarty was good, getting him to look like Sherlock.  
Sherlock was standing at the window, looking out into the night.  
“Well, don’t let it get to you, I always feel like screaming when you walk into a room. In fact, so do most people. Come on.” Lestrade said with a smile, telling Sherlock it was time to go home, work’s done.  
“Brilliant work you did, finding those kids from just a footprint. It’s really amazing.” Donovan said, surprisingly cheerfully.  
“Thank you.” Sherlock said quietly, walking from the room.  
“Unbelievable.” Donovan said, her demeanor shifted.  
Sherlock and John went home, you still had some work to do. You were walking down the hall with Lestrade, when you both stopped and noticed Sally in the room with all the evidence. You both walked towards the open doors.  
“Problem?” Lestrade asked.  
“A footprint that’s all he has.” Sally said.  
“Yeah, well, you know what he’s like, CSI Baker Street.” Lestrade said.  
“Well our boys couldn’t have done it. Y/N couldn’t even have done it, and even though it pains me to admit it, she’s the best one here.” She said.  
“Well he is a graduate chemist. That’s why we need him, he’s better.” you said.  
“That’s one explanation.” She said, looking off.  
“What’s the other?” You asked rudely.  
“Only he could have found that evidence. And then the girl screams her head off when she sees him, a man she has never seen before. Unless she had seen him before.” Donovan argued.  
“It can’t be him Sally, you’re not serious?” You asked her.  
“I am serious, you just don’t want to think about.” She said.  
“This is crazy.” You said, shaking your head.  
You now stood in Greg’s office with Donovan and Anderson.  
“You’re not seriously suggesting he’s involved are you?” Greg asked.  
“I think we have to entertain the possibility.” Anderson said.  
You looked to Greg, shaking your head. And then you saw the look on his face: doubt. He began to question Sherlock as well.  
“Ok, Gregson, you come with me.” Lestrade said, and the two of you drove to Baker Street and rang the bell. John let you in and you ascended the stairs into the sitting room where Sherlock was grabbing something from his bookshelf, it looked like a tiny camera.  
“No, Inspector.” Sherlock said.  
“What?” Lestrade asked.  
“The answer is no.” Sherlock said.  
“You haven’t heard the question.” Lestrade argued.  
“You want to take me to the station. Just saving you the trouble of asking.” He said, now standing in front you you and Lestrade.  
“Sherlock…” Lestrade began.  
“The scream?” He asked.  
“Yeah.” Lestrade nodded.  
“Who was it? Donovan? I bet it was Donovan. Am I somehow responsible for the kidnapping. Ah, Moriarty’s smart. He planted that doubt in her head. That little nagging sensation you’re going to have to be strong to resist. You can’t kill an idea, can you? Not once it’s made a home there.” Sherlock said, pointing to Lestrade’s head before turning and sitting back at his desk.  
“Will you come?” Lestrade asked.  
“One photograph, that’s his next move. Moriarty’s game. First the scream, then a photograph of me being taken in for questioning. He want’s to destroy me inch by inch. It is a game, Lestrade, and not one I’m willing to play. Give my regard to Sergeant Donovan.” Sherlock said, Lestrade sighed and turned to you.  
“Stay here, make sure he doesn’t go anywhere.” He whispered, before leaving.  
You moved to the window and watched him drive away.  
“You should have gone with him. People will think–” You began before Sherlock cut you off.  
“I don’t care what people think.” He said.  
“You’d care if they thought you were stupid or wrong.” You said.  
“No, that would just make them stupid or wrong.” Sherlock said.  
“Sherlock, I don’t want the world believing you’re…” You yelled before stopping yourself.  
“That I am what?” He asked seriously, looking up from his computer.  
“A fraud.” You said.  
“You’re worried they’re right.” Sherlock sighed, sitting back.  
“No, not at all.” You argued.  
“Moriarty is playing with your mind to. Can’t you see what’s going on! You don’t understand because no one’s ever doubted you in your life.” He yelled.  
“You have.” You said softly.  
“What?” He asked, surprised.  
“In the pool, when I first stepped out, and until you saw the explosives, you doubted me. You thought I was Moriarty. That I was behind it all. I still remember the look on your face Sherlock and it broke my heart. That was his plan, he wanted you to doubt me, if even for a minute. I’m not letting that happen this time. I will never doubt you.” You said.  
He stood, looked at you curiously, before moving to his chair.  
Your phone buzzed, it was a text from Lestrade. They were coming back. Sherlock was looking at you wondering what the text was.  
“It’s Lestrade, he said they’re all coming over here. Queuing up to slap on the handcuffs. Every single officer you’ve ever made feel like a tit, which is a lot of people.” You yelled at him. Sherlock didn’t answer, just sat in his chair with his hands folded in front of him.  
“Yoo hoo!” Mrs. Hudson said, knocking on the door and entering.  
“Oh, sorry. Am I interrupting?” She said when she noticed your hands on your hips and your disapproving gaze towards Sherlock.  
“Some chap delivered a parcel, I forgot. Marked perishable. I had to sign for it.” She spoke, you smiled and took it from her. Your smile faded when you saw the seal on it, the same as the two before.  
“Funny name. German. Like the fairy tales.” She said as you opened it, Sherlock was now standing beside you.  
You held the object in your hand carefully. It was a burnt gingerbread cookie. You looked up to Sherlock in fear.  
“Burnt to a crisp.” He said, and you could hear the police sirens outside.  
You could hear James Moriarty’s voice in your head from the pool “I will burn the heart out of you.”  
Before you had time to speak, there were frantic knocks on the door and yelling coming from downstairs. Four policemen now stood in 221B, handcuffing Sherlock while Lestrade stood in front of him.  
“Sherlock Holmes, I’m arresting you on suspicion of abduction and kidnapping. Get him downstairs now.” Lestrade said.  
You stood idly by while Sherlock was dragged away.  
“Are you happy now?” You asked Donovan.  
“Well, I said it. First time we met.” She said.  
“Don’t bother.” You retorted.  
“Solving crimes won’t be enough. One day he’ll cross the line. Now ask yourself, what sort of man would kidnap those kids just so he can impress us all by finding them?” Sally said, and she truly believed her own words. She thought Sherlock was behind all of this.  
Before you could speak, your boss, the Chief Superintendent, entered the room.  
“Donovan? That’s our man?” He asked.  
“Uh, yes, sir.” She answered.  
“Looked a bit of a weirdo, if you ask me. Often are, these vigilante types.” He said, and your blood was boiling.  
You promised yourself on your first case with Sherlock, you wouldn’t stand by and watch him die. Your job didn’t come first, he did: Sherlock Holmes, the father of your unborn child.  
“Better start perfecting your alibi, Gregson, you were so close to him people might think you were involved too.” Sally said.  
“Gregson, is that true?” Your boss asked.  
“Oh, they’re hardly separated. Just read the blog, they’re like some kind of freak team.” She began, and your hand clenched into a fist. “Let me ask you Y/N, did you two have time for a quickie while we were gone? Does he make you wear the hat?”  
She laughed, you lunged towards her, fist first. No doubt, breaking her nose.  
You were quickly taken outside and slammed against the police car next to Sherlock, you let out a grunt when your body made contact with the metal.


	47. Chapter 47

“Joining me?” Sherlock asked as you were handcuffed together.  
“Yeah, apparently there’s some kind of law about assaulting officers.” You said, and Sherlock’s head turned back to see blood running from Donovan’s nose. He let out a small smile.  
“Bit awkward, this.” Sherlock said.  
“There’s no one to bail us.” You said, though you could always call Mycroft, but you also knew Sherlock would refuse his help.  
“I was thinking more about our imminent and daring escape. You don’t have an earpiece in right?” Sherlock asked.  
“No… why?” You asked, and he grabbed the dispatcher from the car you two were against, and gave it a squeeze. An excruciatingly high pitched sound emitted through all the earpieces of every officer around. Everyone clutched their ears and quickly ripped it out. Sherlock quickly turned around, dragging you with him, and pulled a gun out of an officer’s belt.  
“Ladies and gentlemen, will you all please get on your knees?” Sherlock yelled, pointing the gun around at them, but no one moved, he fired into the air twice, “Now would be good!”  
“Do as he says!” Lestrade yelled, ushering everyone down to their knees.  
“Just so you’re all aware the gun is his idea. I’m just, uh, you know…” You rambled nervously.  
“My hostage!” Sherlock said, pointing the gun at you. As you two slowly backed up away from Baker Street.  
“Hostage? Ok, what now?” You whispered.  
“Doing what Moriarty wants. Becoming a fugitive. Run.” Sherlock said, dropping the gun from your head and running.  
“Get after him Lestrade!” You heard the Chief yell from around the corner.  
You two ran awkwardly, since your hands were cuffed together.  
“Take my hand!” Sherlock instructed, and you obeyed.  
You continued to run until you cut through an alleyway. You were about to turn a corner when you saw a police car passing and pulled Sherlock back. You two waited, leaning against the cold brick.  
“Everybody wants to believe it. That’s what makes it so clever. A lie that’s preferable to the truth. All my brilliant deductions were just a sham. No one feels inadequate. Sherlock Holmes is just an ordinary man.” Sherlock said, before pulling you to the opposite wall.  
“What about Mycroft? He can help us.” You said.  
“Big family reconciliation. Now’s not really the moment.” Sherlock said, peeking around the corner.  
“Sherlock.” You whispered, pointing down the alley to a man peeking out from behind the wall. “One of your new neighbors.” You recognized him from the files Mycroft had shown you.  
“Let’s see if he can give us some answers.” Sherlock said, before running.  
“Where are we going?” You asked. He looked out to the street and the red double decker coming down the path.  
“We’re going to jump in front of that bus.” He said before taking off again. You followed him into the street, your heart beating fast. Before the bus could hit you, you were pushed out of the way by Sherlock’s new neighbor. You hit the ground and Sherlock grabbed the gun from the assassins waistband since the one he had was dropped blocks ago.  
“Tell me what you want from me.” Sherlock demanded, pointing the gun at him. “Tell me!”  
“He left it at your flat.” He said.  
“Who?” Sherlock asked.  
“Moriarty.” The assassin answered.  
“What?” Sherlock asked.  
“The computer key code.” You all stood.  
“Of course, he’s selling it. The program he used to break into the Tower. He planted it when he came around.” Sherlock smiled, finally understanding, he lowered the gun.  
Gunshots were fired from the air and the assassin in front of you dropped to the ground dead. You took a step back in shock, and looked to the rooftop where the shots had to have come from.  
You and Sherlock ran, panting before ducking into an alcove.  
“It’s a game changer. It’s a key. It could break into any system and it’s sitting in our flat right now. That’s why he left that message telling everyone where to come ‘Get Sherlock’. We need to get back into the flat and search.” Sherlock said.  
“CID will be camped out. Why plant it on you? Another subtle way of smearing your name?” You asked, looking behind the corner and hearing sirens again.  
“I assume so, now I’m best pals with all those criminals.” Sherlock said. Your eyes darted to a newspaper stand that had the SUN just next to where you were hiding.  
“Yeah, well, have you seen this?” You asked, grabbing a copy to show Sherlock. “A kiss and tell. Someone named Rich Brook. Who is he? Mycroft showed it to me.”  
Sherlock’s eyes grew wide when he saw the name of the writer.  
“I know where we need to go, come on.” He took off running.  
You had now broken into a flat and were sitting on the couch. You assumed you knew where you were even though Sherlock didn’t tell you: Kitty Riley’s flat. Your suspicions were confirmed when the door creaked open and the lights flipped on.  
“Too late to go on the record?” Sherlock asked, as Kitty’s eyes grew wide when they landed on the two of you in her couch.  
You had handed Sherlock the bobby pin that you used to break into her flat, so he could undo his handcuff before you did yours.  
“Congratulations. The truth about Sherlock Holmes. The scoop that everybody wanted and you’ve got it. Bravo.” Sherlock growled at her. She now sat across from where you were.  
“I gave you your opportunity. I wanted to be on your side, remember?” She said. “You turned me down, you both did.”  
“And then, lo and behold, someone turns up and spills the beans. How utterly convenient. Who is Brook?” Sherlock asked. She shook her head like she wasn’t going to answer.  
“Oh, come on, Kitty. No one trusts the voice at the end of a telephone. There were all those furtive little meetings in cafes, those sessions in the hotel room where he gabbled into your Dictaphone.” You seethed with anger.  
“How do you know that you can trust him. A man turns up with the Holy Grail in his pocket. What were his credentials?” Sherlock asked, and you could hear the sound of the door opening directly behind you.  
“Darling, they didn’t have any ground coffee, so I just got normal.” A voice spoke from behind you, your eyes went wide and looked to Sherlock as you recognized it. You quickly turned around and was met face to face with James Moriarty.  
He dropped the bag of groceries and backed up against the wall, his hand raised.  
“You said that they wouldn’t find me here. You said that I’d be safe here.” He spoke, his voice trembling, no where near the same as the Moriarty you knew.  
“You are safe, Richard. I’m a witness. They wouldn’t harm you in front of witnesses.” Kitty said.  
“Richard? So, that’s your source? Moriarty is Richard Brook.” You argued.  
“Of course he’s Richard Brook, there is no Moriarty, there never has been.” Kitty believed.  
“What are you talking about?” You said, mystified.  
“Look him up. Rich Brook, an actor Sherlock Holmes hired to be Moriarty.” Kitty said, and your mouth dropped open.  
“Ms. Gregson, I know you’re a good woman. Don’t… Don’t hurt me.” He raised both of his hands in defense.  
“No, you’re Moriarty! He’s Moriarty! We’ve met, remember? You were going to blow me up! You have been following me since I met Sherlock!” You yelled.  
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. He paid me. I needed the work.” He almost laughed.  
“That’s impossible! Moriarty knew things about me that even Sherlock didn’t! You knew about my uncle, you knew what he did to me, what he called me! And you knew that I–” You were furious. You stopped yourself before you said he knew you were pregnant. You promised Mycroft you wouldn’t tell Sherlock. It might have been a stupid decision, but right now Sherlock needed to focus more than ever. “Sherlock, you better explain ‘cause I am not getting this.”  
“I’ll be doing the explaining. In print. It’s all here. Conclusive proof. You invented James Moriarty, your nemesis.” Kitty said, handing you the write up.  
“Invented him?” You asked, in disbelief.  
“Mmm hmm. Invented all the crimes, actually. And to cap it all, you made up a master villain.” Kitty spoke.  
“Oh, don’t be ridiculous.” You scoffed.  
“Ask him, he’s right here! Just ask him! Tell him, Richard.” Kitty pointed to Jim in his faded jeans and cardigan with disheveled hair. “  
“Oh for God’s sake! This man was on trial!” You pointed.  
“Yes, and you paid him. Paid him to take the rap. Promised you’d rig the jury. Not exactly a West End role, but I’ll bet the money was good. But not so good he didn’t want to sell his story.” Kitty said.  
“I am sorry. I am, I am sorry.” He mumbled.  
“Rich Brook.” You scoffed, rolled your eyes. You began to turn to Sherlock when you stopped in your tracks. Eyes wide, you could hear the voice of Ms. Hudson in your head from earlier tonight ‘German, like the fairy tales’, and Donovan ‘The Reichenbach Hero’.  
“Oh my God. Rich Brook. Reichen Bach.” You turned back to Moriarty and you swore you saw a smirk flash across his face.  
“Yes, that case too, all rigged.” Kitty said, not understanding.  
“No Kitty, you naive idiot.” You shook your head at her. “Sie verstehen, richtig?” You spoke to Sherlock in German. You understand, correct? He nodded, still looking at Jim.  
“I’m on kids TV, I’m the storyteller. It’s on DVD, Kitty show her.” He kept playing the role. Kitty handed you a folder with Richard Brooks ‘credentials’.  
“Tell them. It’s all coming out now. Just tell them. Tell her!” Jim rambled, making Sherlock more angry. “It’s all over… No! No! Don’t you touch me! Don’t you lay a finger on me.”  
Jim began to yell after Sherlock took a step towards him. Moriarty was now backed up against the stairs leading to the kitchen.  
“Stop it, stop it now!” Sherlock yelled. Moriarty quickly turned and ran into the next room closing the door.  
“Leave him alone!” Kitty yelled as you all chased him. When Sherlock got the door back open the window was open and Jim Moriarty was gone.  
“No, no, no, he’ll have backup.” Sherlock pulled you away when you looked out the window.  
“Do you know what, Sherlock Holmes. I look at you now and I can read you. You repel me.” Kitty said, Sherlock turned and exited her flat. You ripped the copy of her expose out of her hands, still holding the ‘Richard Brook’ file and followed Sherlock outside.  
“Can he do that? Completely change his identity? Make you the criminal?” You asked.  
“He’s got my whole life story. That’s what you do. You sell a big lie. You wrap it up in a truth to make it palatable.” Sherlock paced outside.  
“It’s your word against his.” You argued.  
“He’s been sowing doubt into people’s minds for the last 24 hours. There’s only one thing he needs to do to complete his game and that’s to–” Sherlock stopped himself before finishing.  
“Sherlock?” You asked, concerned.  
“There’s something I need to do.” He spoke, and his whole demeanor had changed.  
“Can I help?” You asked, craving to be kept in the loop.  
“No, on my own.” Sherlock said, jumping into a cab and leaving you in the dead of night outside of Kitty’s house.  
“Sherlock!!” You yelled as he left you.  
You angrily got into a cab, knowing there was one place you had to go.


	48. Chapter 48

You snuck into Mycroft’s office, knowing he was still here and would be back to lock up. He was surprised to see you sitting in his chair, reading through Kitty’s unpublished story.  
“She has really done her homework Miss Riley. There’s things that only someone close to Sherlock could know.” You spoke. Mycroft laid down his umbrella and briefcase.  
“Ah.” Mycroft spoke, closing the door.  
“So how does it work then? Your relationship with Moriarty? You go out for a coffee now and then, huh? You and Jim? Your own brother and you blabbed about his entire life to this maniac?” You asked, disappointed.  
“I never intended… I never dreamt–” Mycroft said.  
“This, see, this is what you were trying to tell me, isn’t it? Watch his back, because I’ve fucked up.” You scowled at him. “How did you meet him?”  
“People like him, we know about them, we watch them. But James Moriarty, the most dangerous criminal mind the world has ever seen, and in his pocket, the ultimate weapon, a key code. A few lines of computer code that can unlock any door.” Mycroft said, and you were still angry.  
“And you abducted him? To try and find the key code.” You followed.  
“Interrogated him for weeks. He wouldn’t play along. He just sat there, staring into the darkness. The only thing that made him open up… I could get him to talk. Just a little, but–” Mycroft spoke before you cut him off.  
“In return, you had to offer him Sherlock’s life story. So there’s one big lie, Sherlock’s a fraud, but people will swallow it because the rest of it is true. Moriarty wanted Sherlock destroyed, right? And you have given him the perfect ammunition.” You argued.  
“Y/N… I’m sorry.” Mycroft said genuinely.  
“I trusted you!” You cried. “I didn’t tell Sherlock because I trusted you, and look where that’s gotten us. He deserves to know, Mycroft. Moriarty is going to kill him, and you helped! You said you take care of your family, then stop him. Save him.” You told him. Storming out of his office, leaving the copy of Kitty’s story.  
You stepped out to the curb to hail a cab, and one was slowly approaching you, before another cut in front of it and pulled up next to you. You furrowed your brow, but got in. You were more worried about how you were going to tell Sherlock you were pregnant. You needed to tell him, before it was too late. He needed your help.  
“Barts Hospital.” You told the cabbie, he nodded. The trip should have only taken 5 minutes from the Diogenes Club. You were so deep in thought that you hadn’t realized it was taking much longer than it should. You looked at your phone, no signal. Where the hell were you? You looked out the window and noticed they were almost blacked out. Before you could yell or protest, the car slammed to a stop.  
Your door was ripped open and you were pulled out of the car by two strong hands. Before you could put up a fight a syringe was stabbed into your neck and your body went limp in his arms. The last thing you saw before everything went black were a pair of green eyes.  
When you woke up, you didn’t know how much time had passed. It felts like days, but it could have been hours. As your eyes adjusted to the bright light, you saw that your ankles and wrists were bound. You were on your knees at the top of a building facing Barts Hospital. You made the mistake of looking down, even though you were afraid of heights. You began to squirm when you saw how far off the ground you were.  
You were yanked back by your wrists and your eyes met the same green ones you had seen before slipping into unconsciousness. He was now holding a gun.  
“I don’t think we’ve had the pleasure of meeting, Sebastian Moran.” He flashed a cheeky smile with a slight Irish accent. “Though of course I know who you are.”  
You tried to speak, though that was impossible with the cloth in your mouth.  
“Here let me help you out there love,” he bent down and untied the gag from around your head, “Better?”  
“If you were going to kill me you would have done it by now, what do you want?” You asked, bravely.  
“Oh, it’s not what I want, it’s what my boss wants.” He smirked.  
“Your boss? Let me guess, Moriarty?” You rolled your eyes. You were getting tired of playing games.  
“You are a smart one, I’ll hate to have to kill you.” He said.  
“You don’t have to do this.” You tried to reason with him.  
“Actually I do.” He looked up across to the roof opposite and smiled, “Ready to play the game?”  
“I’m a bit tired of games actually–” You said, before following his gaze and seeing Sherlock stepping out onto the roof of Barts.  
“Time to put this back on love, don’t want you spoiling the game.” He said, quickly re-gagging you before you could scream out to him.  
You watched as the game unfolded across from you, Jim and Sherlock still had their backs to you. Moran bent down next to you and spoke into your ear.  
“You see how this works Y/N? If Sherlock doesn’t commit suicide, you die.” He spoke and you turned your head to face him, eyes wide. He laughed at your reaction.  
Sherlock was now holding Moriarty by the lapels of his jacket, dangling him over the edge.  
“Ah, here’s my favorite part.” Sebastian said, and you furrowed your eyebrows. Sherlock suddenly pulled Moriarty back to his feet, and they both turned to face you. Sherlock’s mouth hung open.  
“If Sherlock doesn’t jump, everyone he loves will die. You, John Watson, Martha Hudson, and Greg Lestrade.” Moran laughed.  
Your eyes connected with Sherlock across the way as he stepped up onto the ledge. You shook your head furiously as tears spilled from your eyes. This wasn’t happening, he wasn’t going to do it, he couldn’t.  
You saw him begin to laugh… what the hell was he playing at? He turned around and Moriarty began to yell. You looked to Moran and he was confused as well. This wasn’t part of the plan. Sherlock jumped off of the ledge back onto the roof.  
You were confused as well, what was he trying to do? Did he think he could make Jim Moriarty call off the killers? You weren’t sure what was happening. Moriarty stuck out his hand for Sherlock to shake. He took it slowly. As long as Sherlock had Moriarty, there was a way out of this. You felt a glimmer of hope. Suddenly you saw Moriarty pull a gun and fire it into his mouth. Sherlock stumbled backwards, surprised by his actions. No, there was no way out now. One of you were not getting out of this alive.  
You looked up to Moran, his eyes were wide in shock… this wasn’t part of the plan, he didn’t know how far he was willing to go to destroy Sherlock.  
Sherlock now had his hands on his head, he didn’t think it would have gone this far.  
He stepped up on the ledge again. You tried to scream, shake your head, stop him from doing this. He took out his phone and held it to his ear, you didn’t know who he was calling but you glanced down to the ground and saw John there, on his phone, looking up to Sherlock.  
A light rain was now beginning to fall as Sherlock threw the phone behind him. You heard John yell his name. Before you knew it, everything was happening in slow motion. Sherlock looked up to you once more, before jumping. You screamed as loud as you could, but it came out muffled. Your view of the ground was blocked by the ambulance station, but you heard it. You heard him hit the ground, you heard the screams of people standing nearby.  
You fell back, breathing heavily, not believing your own eyes. You looked around and Sebastian Moran was gone, and you were all alone. All alone. Somehow you managed to removed the robes from your wrists and ankles, and remove the gag from your mouth. You stood to find the exit, and stumbled to your knees again. Everything hurt: your legs, you wrists, your head, and your heart. You somehow managed to make it down out of the building. You saw John, being held back by paramedics as Sherlock was wheeled away.  
“JOHN!” You screamed and tried to run to him, though your legs were weak. You made it to him, then saw the blood on the ground, you dropped to your knees and held your head in your hands as you cried, as you shook, and as you grieved.


	49. Chapter 49

You had no clue how you had made it back to your apartment that day. You sat on your couch, knees hugging your chest, rocking there. You heard a knock at the door, and you stood to answer it. All your movements were forced, and everything was in slow motion.  
You pulled open the door to see Mycroft standing there. He frowned upon seeing the state you were in. Hair disheveled, eyes red and raw, your knees were scraped up, robe burns around your wrists and ankles, and there was a drizzle of dried blood on your neck from where the needle was forced in.  
You wrapped your arms around him, still shaking as you hugged him. He held you, a broken girl who was all cried out. You let go of him and moved back to your place on the couch. He took off his suit jacket and hung it on your coat rack. This was the most ‘casual’ you had ever seen him, and he looked almost vulnerable.  
“You look like you need a drink.” Mycroft said.  
“I can’t, I’m pregnant.” You said, it was as if he had forgotten.  
He moved to sit next to you.  
“Y/N, I know this is going to be hard for you, but I promise I will help you and your baby in away way I can.” Mycroft said.  
“I can’t stay here, everything reminds me of him. And I can’t go to Baker Street because–” You began to breathe heavily again.  
“Come with me,” Mycroft said and you looked up to him to see if he was serious, “I’ll have someone fetch some of your things tomorrow.”  
You looked around the room before nodding. You stood slowly and Mycroft wrapped a coat around you and lead you into his car that was waiting outside.  
The whole car ride was silent, as you looked out the window with a dead stare. You rested your head on Mycroft’s shoulder, your actions surprising him.  
You didn’t know how long you had been driving, but you felt the car pull to a stop. You were ushered out of the car and into Mycroft’s house. It was large, and very sophisticated. Most of it looked like it was never even touched. Mycroft showed you to a spare bedroom.  
“You can stay here. I’ll have to go to work early in the morning so you’ll most likely be asleep. Make yourself at home. Anything you need just ask.” He said, trying to be supportive. This was his brother, and he didn’t seem nearly as upset as you were.  
“I’m afraid the one thing I need, is the one thing even you can’t give me.” you said quietly, before he left.  
You crawled into the unfamiliar bed, in the unfamiliar house, and began your new unfamiliar life.  
The next morning you woke up early– does it count as waking up if you never really slept? You wondered the house absentmindedly, replaying the events of yesterday in your head. You thought about your last words to him, and his last words.  
His last words were to John… he called John before he– you know…  
The thought of not knowing what he said was eating you alive, you had to know. Maybe he left some sort of message or riddle. This was Sherlock, this couldn’t be it, there had to be something. John was in no state to talk to you, and you didn’t trust him to remember every work.  
It had to be a message, a skip code or cipher. You knew there was only one person you could ask who would have access to that kind of information, and he had just walked through the door. You hadn’t realized you had spent the whole day wandering around the house and thinking.  
“Oh, hello Y/N, do you need anything?” Mycroft asked when you had rushed to him unknowingly now standing in front of him.  
“I need a favor.” You said.  
“What is it?” He asked, wanting to do anything to help you through this.  
“I want to hear it. The call. He called John before it happened and I want to hear it, is there a way you can let me hear it?” You spoke quickly and nervously.  
“Phone calls aren’t recorded.” Mycroft said, but you knew he was lying.  
“By the government? I find that hard to believe. Mycroft I need to know what he said… for closure or whatever. Can you make it happen?” You asked again, more forcefully. You were now obsessed with the possibility that there could have been a message left for you, a sign that he was somehow still out there, and you wouldn’t stop until you found it.  
“Yes,” Mycroft sighed, “I can get it to you tomorrow morning.”  
When Mycroft came back the next day with that flashdrive, you were waiting impatiently for him. You sat on the couch and plugged the drive into the laptop in front of you. You pressed play and sat back on the couch, tucking your knees up to your chest.  
“Hello?…John… Hey, Sherlock, you okay?… Turn around and walk back the way you came… No, I’m coming in… Just do as I ask! Please… Where?… Stop there… Sherlock?… Okay, look up, I’m on the rooftop…Oh, God… I can’t come down, so we’ll just have to do it like this…What’s going on?…An apology. It’s all true… What?… Everything they said about me. I invented Moriarty… Why are you saying this?… I’m a fake… Sherlock… The newspapers were right all along. I want you to tell Lestrade. I want you to tell Mrs. Hudson. And Y/N. In fact, tell anyone who will listen to you that I created Moriarty for my own purposes… Okay, shut up, Sherlock, shut up. The first time we met, you knew all about my sister. Right?… Nobody could be that clever… You could… I researched you. Before we met, I discovered everything that I could to impress you. It’s a trick. Just a magic trick… No, all right, stop it now… No, stay exactly where you are. Don’t move… All right… Keep your eyes fixed on me. Please will you do this for me?… Do what?… This phone call. It’s my note. It’s what people do, don’t they? Leave a note?… Leave a note when?… Goodbye John, tell Y/N I love her.”  
The recording ended with a crack, when the phone shattered against the roof when Sherlock had thrown it back. Mycroft turned to you, but you began gathering pieces of paper and moved the laptop to the dining room table and sat down.  
You listened to it again, and you began dictating it onto the paper.  
“What are you doing?” Mycroft asked.  
“There has to be some sort of code or message.” You told him, once the whole thing was written out on your paper.  
“Why?” Mycroft asked, crossing his arms.  
“Because I refuse to believe that he left without so much as a word, a clue. What if the game isn’t over Mycroft?” You yelled. He raised his hands in defeat, and left you alone.  
You were up all night trying to decipher the call. You finally fell asleep around 4am with the laptop open in front of you and piles of crumpled white paper around you.  
Mycroft woke you when he entered in the morning on his way to work, he was disappointed with your new obsession. He grabbed the last paper you had been working on before you fell asleep. The message was written out again, but in large print, 221 was circled at the top.  
“221.” He muttered, reading it.  
“Yes, 221,” you ripped the paper from his hand, standing, “There are exactly 221 words in this conversation. He must have left the next clue there! At 221B!”  
You threw on a jacket, still looking a mess, and rushing out the door to 221B, much to Mycroft’s protests.  
Once you were there, you picked the lock and rushed up to Sherlock’s room. You opened every drawer, craving a clue. You hadn’t realized how loud you were being when you heard footsteps coming towards the room.  
“Sherlock?” John’s broken voice asked. You turned to face him, you saw the disappointment on his face when it was just you.  
“Y/N? Where the hell have you been? Mrs. Hudson and I tried to go to your flat to see you, but your landlady said some government officials had taken you away.” John said, rushing to you and pulling you into a hug.  
“She does love to be dramatic. I’ve been staying with Mycroft.” You told him.  
“He said he was a fake.” John told you, not knowing you knew exactly what Sherlock had said.  
“Surely you don’t believe that John. You of all people must know he wasn’t. And I can prove it! Rich Brook, it means Reichenbach in German. The case that made Sherlock’s name, and the man who destroyed him. And there were things that Moriarty knew about me that even Sherlock didn’t, so there’s no way he could have hired him to play the villain. He knew about my uncle and he knew I was pregnant.” You told John frantically, your lack of sleep showing.  
You began searching through his room again, before John grabbed your arm, stopping you.  
“What are you doing?” He asked, you pushed the note into his hand, and began searching again.  
“How did you get this? How could you know?” He asked, knowing exactly what it was.  
“I’m living with a government official, you think I don’t have access to this kind of information?” You said harshly, he was distracting you from your search.  
“Why is 221 circled at the top, what does that mean.” John asked, holding it up to you.  
“This phone call,” You pointed up to the paper in his hand, “has exactly 221 words, a clue, he must have left something here, in 221B. What if he isn’t dead, John!”  
You opened his dresser where the necklace he got you for Christmas sat. You looked at it quizzically. This was in your flat in your jewelry box last time you saw it, how could it be here? You opened the Harry Winston box slowly, only to find a folded white note over the necklace. Your breath hitched. You grabbed it and sat on the floor with your back against his bed. You opened the note slowly and read.  
Y/N,  
If you’ve found this, it means I’m gone, and you were just as brilliant as I always knew you could be. I knew Moriarty’s plan once we left the journalist’s house. To complete his story, I had to die. To protect you, I had to die. And for this, I am sorry. I am sorry for leaving you, for the pain I know you’re in right now, and for not being the man you deserve. I am sorry for so many things, but I am not sorry for loving you. I know I’ve said that love is a disadvantage, but you were the exception. I don’t want you to give up now that I’m gone. You have a chance now, to have the normal life I know you’ve always wanted. You were meant for bigger and better things than loving a sociopath like me, and I pity anyone who stands in your way. You have a chance. I was foolish to think that things could end well for me, that I deserved someone like you. I did the most dangerous thing I could when I said I love you, and it was worth it. People don’t forget girls like you. They try, but they won’t ever forget what your love felt like.  
What is the meaning of it, Y/N? What is the object of this circle of misery, violence and fear? It must have a purpose, or our universe has no meaning. And that is unthinkable. But what purpose? That is humanity’s great problem to which reason so far has no answer.  
This is not a goodbye, my darling, it is a thank you. Thank you for coming into my life and giving me joy, thank you for loving me and receiving my love in return. Thank you for the memories I will cherish forever. We could have been happy. I know that, and it is perhaps the hardest thing to know.  
Sherlock  
You clutched the letter against your chest a broke down, you hadn’t cried in two days, but everything just hit you. He was really gone and there was nothing you could do about it.


	50. Chapter 50

You shoved the note into your pocket and pushed your way past John and down the stairs. He called after you, but you didn’t stop. You left 221B, knowing that it could possibly be your last time there. It began to rain as you walked down the street, and you thought about popping into your own flat around the corner but decided against it. Like everything, it would just remind you of him.  
You wandered around London in the rain, your wet hair sticking to your face. You noticed the strange looks you were getting from people walking by, but you didn’t care anymore. You didn’t care how you looked, you were broken inside so what use was it not being broken on the outside.  
You found yourself in front of a familiar door, ringing the bell. You didn’t know who else to turn to, but you knew someone who might understand, even a little.  
The door was tugged open quickly.  
“Y/N, my God get in here, you’re soaking wet!” Lestrade said, pulling you out of the rain. He was clearly surprised to see you. He took your coak, but your wet clothes clung to your body. He frowned when he saw your lips had a blue tint. He wrapped a towel around your shoulders. You looked up to him, you still hadn’t said a word. You wrapped your arms around him, hugging him as a tear streamed down your check.  
“It’s going to be okay, Y/N.” He said, rubbing soothing circles on your back.  
‘It’s not though, it’s not going to be okay, Greg. Nothing will ever be the same.” You said, pulling back.  
“It will just take time, trust me. You can come back to work when you’re ready, things can go back to normal.” Greg said.  
“You don’t get it do you. I can’t go back there, I can’t work there anymore. Everything reminds me of Sherlock, every case I work I would just think of him, not to mention if I saw Donovan or Anderson. I can’t do it Greg.” You said, shaking your head.  
“Does that mean you’re quitting?” Lestrade asked.  
“I would only be there for a few months before leaving anyway. There’s no reason to go back now.” You said.  
“What do you mean?” Lestrade asked confused.  
“Greg, I’m pregnant… I’ve known for about a month. I’ve been staying with Mycroft, he’s offered to help but I still don’t know what I’m going to do.” You said quietly. Lestrade was obviously surprised.  
“So it’s Sherlocks? Are you going to keep it?” He asked.  
“Of course, it’s my last connection to him, the last bit of him I have left.” You said, lowering your head.  
“Did he know?” Lestrade asked gently. You shook your head, your heart filling with regret. Maybe if you had told him he wouldn’t have done what he did.  
“God…” Greg muttered, “Well if you ever need anything, I’ll be here for you. Always.”  
“Thank you. I might go back home for a little while, to America I mean, still not sure. I think I need to get out of London for a little while.” You said.  
“Well, you’ve always got a friend on the force… And if it’s any consolation Anderson quit and Donovan is very sorry.” Greg said.  
“Sorry for what? Helping kill Sherlock and destroy his reputation, or for agitating me enough to break her nose?” You asked.  
“Both, though I do think she’s had to have surgery to fix that.” Lestrade said.  
“Small price to pay compared to what she did, don’t you think.” You said, now standing.  
“He wasn’t a fraud was he?” Greg asked.  
“He was many things, but never that.” You put your coach on, which had dried a little.  
“Are you leaving?” He asked.  
“It’s getting late, Mycroft will worry.” You said.  
“Call me if you need anything.” He said and you nodded as you walked out the door.  
After walking a little more it began to rain again, just your luck. You had made it back to Mycroft’s house and walked in the door, soaking wet.  
He jumped to his feet when you arrived, rushing to you.  
“Well?” He asked, curious.  
You pulled the note out of the inside of your coat where it had managed to only get a little wet. You placed it on the table next to you and walked past Mycroft to hang your coat up and change into some dry clothes.  
When you reemerged, newly dry, Mycroft was waiting for you, with the letter in his hand.  
“Where did you find this?” He asked.  
“At his flat.” You said simply, moving towards an armchair.  
“Yes, but where?” He pushed as you curled up in the chair.  
“In his room, his wardrobe. In a box of jewelry that used to be in my flat, but somehow ended up in his.” You said. He eyed you suspiciously and you wondered what he was thinking.  
“What kind of jewelry?” He asked, why was he so curious.  
“It was a necklace that he had given me for Christmas. Why do you care?” You asked.  
“Just curious. Are you okay?” He asked.  
“Of course I’m not okay! I’ve just lost the love of my life, and I’m pregnant with his child! Mycroft I know human nature is a mystery to you, but don’t you think it’s a bit obvious!” You yelled. He sighed and rubbed his temple.  
“I think you should see someone, someone who can help you.” Mycroft sighed.  
“Like a shrink?” You scoffed.  
“A therapist. Y/N, please, do it for me.” Mycroft pleaded.  
And you did, the next day you found yourself sitting in front of a therapist for the first time. Surprisingly you had never been to one. She told you that you were having trouble coping with Sherlock being gone, but you knew that. She also told you that a good way to handle that was to write letters to him, to say the things you wanted to and never did.  
That night you sat at the desk in your room, pulled out a pen and piece of paper and began to write what was on your mind. Tears stained the page as you held it up to read it before tucking it away.  
Sherlock,  
My therapist thinks this will help, writing to you, saying the things I wanted to and never did. Yes, I went to a therapist, the same one John uses I think. How ironic. I doubt this will help though, nothing helps. Nothing numbs the pain, and believe me I’ve tried everything. No one really understands, they try but at the end of the day they go back to their perfect little lives and I’m left all alone. And let me tell you, the nights are the worst. Sometimes all you can do is lie in bed, and hope to fall asleep before you fall apart. I think my mind is still having trouble wrapping itself around the fact that you’re gone.  
I used to think I couldn’t go a day without seeing you. Without telling you things and hearing your voice back. Then, that day arrived and it was so damn hard but the next was harder. And I just know it’s going to get worse and I won’t be okay for a very long time. People don’t realize that losing someone isn’t an occasion or an event. It doesn’t just happen once. It happens over and over again. I lose you every time I pick up your favorite coffee mug; whenever I hear a violin, or when I see a deerstalker.  
I lose you every time I think of kissing you, holding you, or wanting you. I go to bed at night and lose you when I wish I could tell you about my day. And in the morning, when I wake up and reach for the empty space across the sheets, I begin to lose you all over again.  
I missed you every hour. And you know what the worst part was? It caught me completely by surprise. I’d catch myself just walking around to find you, not for any reason, just out of habit, because I’d seen something that I wanted to tell you about or because I wanted to hear your voice. And then I’d realize that you weren’t there anymore, and every time, every single time, it was like having the wind knocked out of me.  
It’s sad Sherlock, how you were such a big part of my life and now you’re just gone. Missing you comes in waves, and tonight I’m drowning. I had so much left to say to you, and that’s the worst part. It’s 2:00 AM and I’m still trying to figure out how everything went wrong so fast. Was there something I could have done? If only I had been smarter, if only I had figured out his plan sooner I could have helped you, I could have prevented this from happening.  
Sherlock, I miss you so much. I miss you when the lights go down, because it illuminates all my doubts. My therapist told me that we place all love in the dark, and I’m not sure how true that is, but at moments like this I began to believe her. She tells me I need to move on, but how can I? If you weren’t the one for me, then how come I hate the idea of being free? And part of me keeps holding on, hoping for a miracle. As each day passes, that hope gets smaller and smaller. I’m terrified that one day I’ll wake up and forget the sound of your voice, the color of your eyes, or the curl of your hair.  
I remember all of the things that I thought I wanted to be, I was so desperate to find a way out of my world and to finally breathe. Only when I moved to London and when you followed me into Speedy’s did things start to feel right. Right before my eyes I saw my heart come to life. And it wasn’t easy loving you, but then again when it’s real it’s not meant to be easy. Every story has its scars, and ours always seems to lead to pain and scars. But that didn’t scare me when I had you by my side. When I had you I felt safe. Since you’re the only one that mattered, tell me who do I run to?  
But when the pain cuts too deep, and the nights keep me from sleeping that’s when I realized you were my remedy. It was always you that pulled me back to what really mattered. You keep me right, though I’m sure you would argue the opposite. When the world seems so cruel, and my heart makes me feel like a fool I wonder if maybe you were right. Sentiment is a chemical defect found in the losing side. We lost… I lost. When has it ever worked out for me? This disappointment we call love? You were my one chance at happiness. You were my remedy and without you I am broken.  
Not much is certain in this world, death and taxes and all that, but among all the lies, the one truth I could always hold onto was your love, and I will always love you.  
Y/N Gregson  
You folded the letter and placed it in an empty envelope that would soon fill to capacity. Tomorrow was Sherlock’s funeral, you were supposed to say something, to stand in front of everyone and speak. Tomorrow was going to be a long day, and you hadn’t even thought about what you were going to say.


	51. Chapter 51

You sat in the car with Mrs. Hudson and John, dressed in all black, driving to an event you never thought you would be attending– the funeral of Sherlock Holmes.  
You sat with your head down, fiddling with your skirt until it was your turn. It really was a strange event, funerals. Especially after someone has taken their own life. Funny expression that is too. Taking it from who? When you’re gone it’s not you who will miss it. It affects everyone around you.  
You realized that Sherlock died to save you and John and everyone he cared about. You didn’t want to lose him, and just wished you could hold him one last time. You understood now that he was distant to protect you, but at the end of the day nothing you said would bring him back.  
It was now time for you to say your bit. As you ascended the steps to the pulpit you thought about how you should have prepared something to say. You were going to have to speak from your heart, and right now that might have been hard to do. Your heart wasn’t in a good place, it was shriveled and turning black, becoming cold to the world.  
You looked around the filled room and saw Mycroft standing in the back. It wasn’t who was there that confused you, but who wasn’t. Sherlock’s parents were nowhere to be seen, wouldn’t they attend their son’s funeral?  
You lowered the mic and took a deep breath.  
“Have you ever lost someone you love and wanted one more conversation, one more chance to make up for the time when you thought they would be there forever?” You began, your voice only shaking slightly.  
“If so, then you know you can go your whole life collecting days, and none will outweigh the one you wish you had back. Even though he rubbed people the wrong way or didn’t always say the right thing, it was a pleasure and a gift to have Sherlock in our lives.” You felt your eyes prickling with tears, but held them back.  
“Even if he didn’t show it, he cared. He wasn’t as strong as he looked. I think it was Oscar Wilde that said ‘The truth is rarely pure and never simple’, and the truth is that Sherlock Holmes is a great man who I loved deeply and he was not a fraud, it’s as simple and complicated as that.” You looked around the room, knowing Sherlock would have hated this, a bunch of people crying over him.  
“Nobody can fake being such an annoying dick all the time.” You smiled through a tear. This comment caused a short lived laugh to wave through the room, providing a break from all the sniffling.  
“He may be gone, but he won’t be forgotten, not while there are still those who care about him.” You said, leaving the podium and returning to your seat.  
That day was a bad day, you had been having alot of those lately. You hated all the looks of pity you were receiving. Especially now that you were starting to show. You estimated you were about 12 weeks along. When you got home you sat on the couch and Mycroft brought you a cup of tea and sat next to you.  
“I think you should do it.” Mycroft said suddenly, and confusing you.  
“Do what?” You asked, looking to him.  
“You’ve been debating for the last week whether or not to go back to America for a little while. I think you should do it, spend a little time with your family.” Mycroft said.  
“Maybe you’re right.” You said. “I have some stuff back at my flat that I want to bring though.”  
“I can go get it.” Mycroft said.  
“I think I can manage it, plus I’ll have to see Mrs. Astor.” You said, was Mycroft acting strange?  
“It’s really no trouble.” He pushed.  
“What are you up to? Why don’t you want me to go back to my flat?” You asked, suspiciously.  
“Just trying to spare you any more pain.” He lied.  
“I’ll have to go back there eventually.” You said, still wondering what he was up to.  
That night you found yourself booking a flight back home to DC. After a considerable amount of suspicious protesting from Mycroft, you returned to your flat the next day to grab some of your things. Nothing seemed to be out of place when you got there, but there was a different feel in the flat. Like someone had been there while you were gone. You pushed the idea out of your head, and grabbed some of your things.  
After the 8 hour flight you were now standing in front of your mother’s house, bags in hand, and rang the doorbell. You waited for a moment before she pulled the door open.  
“Y/N? What are you doing here? Is everything okay?” She asked. You shook your head, dropped your bags and hugged her.  
“Are you here for Chuck?” She asked again.  
“Chuck? No, what happened to Chuck?” You asked, pulling away.  
“Well, nothing, but he’s coming home in two days. You didn’t know?” She asked, helping you inside the house.  
“No, I didn’t know.” You said quietly.  
“Well apparently he met someone, they want to get married here next week. You will stay for that won’t you?” She said, trying to micromanage the situation.  
“Yes, sure, of course.” You said nervously.  
“What happened?” She asked, her mom senses tingling.  
“I just needed some time out of London.” You said, not ready to admit it.  
“Because…” She pushed.  
“Sherlock.” You cried, placing your head in your hands.  
“What happened? What did he do?” She asked, angrily. She had never seen you react this way to anything, you were always the strong one.  
“He’s dead.” You cried.  
“Oh dear… that’s terrible.” She said quietly.  
“Nope, that’s not even the worst part. The worst part is that he was forced to his death by a bloody psychopath who made everyone believe that he was a fraud, and as if that wasn’t bad enough, I’m pregnant!” You yelled, your grief turning into rage.  
“We can get through this, I promise.” She insisted.  
Two days later you were welcoming home your brother who was just the person you needed to see right now. He was the one shining light in your dark tunnel. His wedding was beautiful and gave you something to focus on other than your current predicament. His wife was wonderful and you really liked her. She was going to be working for an international company focused in London so you might be seeing them more often. Before you knew it three weeks had flown by, and the comfort of your family had made you feel a little better.  
You were now doing much better. You were still writing your letters to Sherlock and those were really helping. You were now 15 weeks pregnant and showing. You had to face your demons and return to London. Your life was now there and you needed to be there too. You realized you had been neglecting your friends and loved ones back in London: Mycroft, John, Mrs. Hudson, Lestrade.  
The words of F. Scott Fitzgerald could not have fit better in this situation. “It’s a funny thing coming home. Nothing changes. Everything looks the same, feels the same, even smells the same. You realized what’s changed is you.”


	52. Chapter 52

You exited the plane at Heathrow Airport and couldn’t be more happy to be back in London. You were a little better, but there was still a hole in your life. You saw a familiar face in the crowd outside of the terminal, but not the one you expected to see. He held a sign with your name in a casual sophisticated way in his three piece suit. You laughed when you saw him.  
“Excuse me, I’m looking for Mycroft Holmes, I can’t seem to find him.” You said sarcastically to Mycroft who lowered the sign.  
“Yes, yes, very funny. Welcome home.” He smiled and hugged you.  
“You look…” He said, looking you up and down.  
“If you say fat, I’ll punch you.” You smiled.  
“Beautiful.” He smiled. “And pregnant.”  
“I’ve missed you. I’m missed this city. I’m not the same woman that left three weeks ago.” You said, as the two of you walked to your waiting car.  
“You seem… better. Like the time away did you some good. I do hope you enjoyed the wedding.” Mycroft spoke, and you looked to him curiously before remembering who you were dealing with.  
“I haven’t seen him since he was deployed, it was nice. Though I think London is my home now. I couldn’t imagine being anywhere else.” You said, “It’s still hard, knowing he won’t be here, but it is what it is, and I still have a part of him.” You placed a hand over your growing stomach once the two of you were in the car.  
“Hello Giles.” You said to the driver, who you had expected to greet you inside, instead of Mycroft.  
“Hello Ms.Gregson, hope you had a pleasant trip.” He said politely and you smiled.  
That night, you wrote another letter to Sherlock, your pile was growing at a slow but full pace. You had written one every week. The next few weeks progressed much the same. Your stomach kept growing, and the thought and memory of Sherlock still hadn’t escaped your mind. You had been going for walks a lot, apparently it was good for the baby, and it was good for you. It gave you a chance to clear your head and spend some time with your thoughts.  
That night you convinced Mycroft to have a movie night and spend some time together, he had been extremely busy with work lately and you thought he deserved a break. He agreed, but only with the condition that he got to choose the movie. His choice surprised you more than anything, and you couldn’t help but burst into laughter.  
“Four Weddings and A Funeral.” You thought you heard him wrong.  
“Are you serious,” You couldn’t stop laughing, “Are you sure you don’t want to watch Bridget Jones Diary, or maybe Love Actually.”  
“Y/N, have you ever seen it?” He asked, not pleased with your laughter.  
“No. How about Notting Hill?” You joked.  
“You’re going to love it, stop laughing.” He scolded as the two of you curled up on the couch.  
“Oh, Mycroft Holmes, you never cease to amaze me.” You laid your head on his shoulder as he pressed play.  
A few minutes into the movie, you flinched and your hand flew to your stomach while a groan escaped your lips. Mycroft immediately jumped up in front of you.  
“What happened? Is everything okay? Is it the baby?” He asked frantically. You only smiled through the pain.  
“It’s kicking. Mycroft he’s kicking!” You said with glee. You quickly grabbed his hand and placed it over your stomach so he could feel it.  
You watched his eyes grow wide as he felt the small kick. You’ve never seen him smile so wide.  
“Oh my god. I can feel it, there’s really a baby in there.” He said, becoming obsessed.  
“That’s generally the way it works.” You laughed.  
“Does it hurt?” He asked, how hands still on your stomach.  
“A little, it’s just kind of uncomfortable.” You said, and you suddenly grew sad. These were firsts that you had wanted to experience with Sherlock, and now he was gone.  
“You said he.” Mycroft pointed out.  
“What?” You asked confused.  
“A minute ago, you said he’s kicking. You think it’s a boy.” He said.  
“I didn’t tell you, I got curious the other day while I was out for a walk. I remembered the doctor saying I could call them back if I wanted to know the sex, and well… I called and it’s a boy.” You smiled.  
“Have you thought of names?” Mycroft asked.  
“It’s a little early for that, don’t you think?” You replied.  
“You’re almost five months pregnant, I don’t think it’s too early.” He said.  
“Well I’ve always liked William.” You said, off-handedly. Mycroft looked away from you, and you were scared.  
“What’s wrong with William?” You asked.  
“Nothing, it’s just that…” He stopped.  
“Mycroft, just can’t keep doing this. What is it?” You asked, nervous.  
“William Sherlock Scott Holmes. That’s the whole of it. He probably never told you.” Mycroft said quietly.  
“No he didn’t.” You said, looking down.  
“Y/N,” Mycroft grabbed your hand, “It’s a perfect name, and you’ll make a wonderful mother.”  
“Everyone keeps saying that, but I’m not so sure. And honestly, I’m terrified.” You said.  
“That’s normal, but if anyone could do this, it’s you.” He said, and his words comforted you. You nuzzled back into his shoulder and finished the movie before falling asleep.  
When you woke up you were hot, too hot. Your body was on fire and your thoughts were clouded. Everything was blurry. You thought you heard someone calling your name, but you were slipping in and out of consciousness.  
“Y/N?” You heard Mycroft yelling, and trying to wake you. “Y/N you’re burning up, you have a fever.”  
You tried to stand, but the pain in your stomach was killing you. This wasn’t normal. Something was wrong. Were you bleeding?  
“Y/N!” Was the last thing you heard before collapsing into Mycroft’s arms.  
When you woke up, you were in a hospital bed with needles in your arm. Your whole body felt numb. You blinked a few times before your vision had cleared. You didn’t know how much time had passed, but it felt like it was already morning.  
You turned your head and saw Mycroft asleep in a chair next to you. He should have been at work, but instead it looked like he had stayed up all night with you. The door opened, which woke Mycroft, and a doctor entered. You turned your head to the other side and saw a table under the window full of flowers. The realization struck you, and your mouth dropped open.  
“How are you feeling Ms.Gregson?” The doctor asked gently.  
Your eyes filled up with tears and you began to shake your head. This couldn’t be happening, not to you, not after everything. You felt Mycroft grab your hand.  
“Ms.Gregson, I’m very sorry. Late term miscarriages like this are very rare, but they do happen. Right now we’re not sure what caused it. We’re very sorry, but there was nothing we could do. We think possibly the umbilical cord could have been wrapped around the baby’s neck.” The doctor said, but you could barely hear, there was a ringing in your ears.  
Everything had stopped. You pulled your hand away from Mycroft. You were unsure which pain is worse– the shock of what happened or the ache for what never will.  
You’ve changed. Irrevocably. Permanently. Your soul is richer and your heart is fuller in brokenness than it ever was without. I’ve learned true despair. When you lose a baby but you are made to feel like it’s just a common medical condition, it’s heart shattering. It’s mentally exhausting, feeling bad about something you can do nothing about.  
You had realized something. Everyone is afraid of dying, until you lose a child… then you’re afraid of living.


	53. Chapter 53

You hit rock bottom. You tried to still write to Sherlock, but your letters got darker and darker. You had returned to your apartment, spent some time on your own. Alone is what you have, alone protects you.  
Ms. Hudson had come to visit you, so did John, and Lestrade, Molly, and even Anderson.  
You were bad after that. You began drinking to numb the pain, living recklessly, because you didn’t care what happened to you now. You had lost count of how many times you had been cut off at bars and kicked out.  
One night after final call, you were roaming the streets and ended up at a doss-house.  
“What do you want?” The man at the door asked in a thick accent.  
“What you’re selling.” You held up a wad of cash, and he opened the door quickly.  
“Bill Wiggins at your service. Cup of tea? Or coffee?” He asked pointing to the different drugs scattering the room.  
“What do you recommend?” You asked.  
“For you, the tea. It’s your first time I’m assuming and you want to forget someone. A 7% solution should take care of that for the time being.” Wiggins said.  
“I think we’ll make fast friends Wiggins.” You smiled a dark, empty smile.  
Mycroft wasn’t happy after he found you back at your flat. He seemed all too used to this routine.  
“You need to stop throwing your life away! You need to move on!” Mycroft yelled.  
“I am moved on and I’m doing just fine!” You yelled back, still high.  
“This isn’t fine Y/N! I expect this from Sherlock, but not from you!” He screamed.  
“I think we can stop expecting anything from Sherlock because he’s dead! Our baby is dead! And I’m fine!” You fell back onto the couch. You knew what you had done had crossed the line, but you didn’t regret it.  
“This was a cry for help. I won’t lose you to this, you’re too bright for this. Your mind is needed for something greater. You need to go back to work, and the offer still stand to work with me, but only if you are clean and sober.” He said.  
“I don’t want to be in London.” You argued.  
“I thought you said London was your home.” He scoffed.  
“Home hurts.” You answered quietly.  
“What about MI6. You have the skillset, you would have to do some training but nothing you couldn’t handle. It would take you out of London. Normally I wouldn’t have suggested something like this for you, but I think you might be what they’re looking for right now, especially after their last double-0 was forced into retirement.” Mycroft explained, and you accepted.  
You sobered up, and got to work.  
Gareth Mallory, also known as M, had called you into his office a few weeks after beginning your training. You were excelling at an unprecedented rate, and he felt you were ready to be sent out into the field. Technically you weren’t a double-0 yet, that took two confirmed kills, two kills that you didn’t have.  
“You wanted to see me, sir?” You asked, entering his office.  
“Yes, Gregson, please have a seat.” He pointed to the chair in front of him. He laid a file across from you and your eyes grew wide at who it was, and how long the list was of people he was working for.  
“I believe you’re familiar with Ryan Spencer.” M said.  
“Um, yes sir, he’s my uncle.” You said, hesitantly.  
“He’s been selling CIA, MI6, and FSB secrets, so naturally he needs to be taken care of. We have the name of his contact, so he will have to be taken care of aswell.” M said.  
“And you want me to kill them?” You asked.  
“That won’t be a problem will it?” M asked.  
“No sir, not at all.” You said, and it wasn’t a problem. Ever since Sherlock died, you had been different. Cold, calculating, and ready to kill. Conscience? Gone. Sentiment? Gone.  
“Good. Mycroft Holmes seems to think you’re ready, but I’m not convinced. You understand if this mission goes well you will have the two kills necessary to obtain double-0 status.” M said.  
“Yes, sir. I’m ready.” You nodded.  
“Good.” He handed you the file and you left his office.  
You read through the file, last spotted in Prague. Seem’s like a good enough place to start. That had to be lowered down, let’s start with the contact.  
Took you less than two days to find him. Conveniently he was in Prague too, lucky you. Guess who also spoke Czech, this mission was just being handed to you on a silver platter.  
You had followed him into a hotel, you sat in the lobby, a newspaper opened in front of you. You waited for him to come down the stairs, and as he did he turned left into the water closet. You stood slowly and slipped into the room unnoticed, and locked the door behind you.  
“Wrong toilet.” He said, when he noticed you.  
“No, I don’t think so.” You said, pulling out your gun, and he pulled his own. You kicked it out of his hand, and your fist collided with his face.  
“Where is Spencer?” You asked, as he bled.  
“I’ll die before I tell you.” He said.  
“That can be arranged.” You smiled, and he lunged at you, slamming you against the wall, your gun falling to the floor. You kneed him in the groin, and threw him into the porcelain sink. It shattered, and you turned the water on of the sink next to it.   
His elbow rammed into your stomach, you groaned in pain. You slammed his face into the mirror, shattering it, before holding it into the now flooding sink. He struggled for a moment while you held his head down, before falling limp.  
You walked across the now destroyed room to grab your gun, and as you turned around the contact suddenly reached for his gun on the floor, clearly not dead yet. But you were quicker, you fired into his head before he had a chance.  
Based on Ryan’s file he had an office here in Prague, that seemed the next reasonable place to check. You broke in there effortlessly, once inside his office you found a safe hidden in the wall with more money than a man like Ryan should have, M was telling the truth. You heard the door unlock and you sat casually in a chair in the dark corner of the room.  
He walked over to his desk and looked to the open safe.  
“M really doesn’t mind you earning a little money on the side, Ryan.” Your voice filled the darkness and he turned around surprised, knowing exactly who the voice belonged to. “He’d just prefer it if it wasn’t selling secrets.”  
He sat down at his desk, his eyes not leaving yours, and you noticed him pull open a drawer, though you’d already taken care of that.  
“If the theatrics are supposed to scare me, you have the wrong man, Y/N/N.” Your eyes narrowed at the sound of that nickname. “If M was so sure that I was bent, he’d have sent a double-0. Benefits of knowing all the secrets, I’d know if anyone had been promoted to double-0 status, wouldn’t I. Your file shows no kills, I’ve told you before you don’t have it in you, it takes–”  
“Two.” You cut him off. Jesus, who wasn’t this man working for. He suddenly pulled his gun on you and you remained unphased, a dead smile still present on your lips.  
“Shame. After your little boyfriend died I thought I would finally have you to myself.” He said, before pulling the trigger. He looked surprised when nothing came out of the barrel.  
“I know where you keep your gun, uncle dear. I’m not the scared little girl you used to take exception to.” You said, holding up the magazine you had extracted from the gun in his desk before he entered the room.  
“How did he die?” He asked, and you thought back to the man you had just killed.  
“Your contact?” He nodded, you smirked. “Not well.”  
“Made you feel it did he? I’m surprised you had it in you. Well, you shouldn’t worry the second is–” You cut him off by raising your gun and firing, the force of the bullet sending him backwards.  
“Yes. Considerably.” You said, placing the gun back in your coat.  
The next day, you returned to London, a double-0 with two kills under your belt. You stood in M’s office, needless to say he was extremely proud and pleasantly surprised by your abilities.  
“Congratulations Gregson, or should I say 009. For your first assignment you will be teaming with 007, Charles Bass.” M spoke, and you turned to see a man leaning against the doorframe. “Q will brief you, he’s waiting in the lab.”  
You walked towards the door, and Bass followed you once you had brushed passed him.  
“So, how does Sherlock Holmes’ girlfriend end up in MI6?” He asked as he caught up to you. You took one glance at him before speaking.  
“How does an orphan get put through Oxford and end up in MI6?” You returned, and he looked at you in shock.  
“How did you know that?” He asked.  
“Simple deduction.” You continued walking.  
“Okay so you’re smart, but are you physically capable to do this?” He asked and you rolled your eyes, and held up his watch that you had snagged when you brushed past him in the doorway.  
“Jesus, you’re good.” He grabbed it back. “What about weapons?”  
“Would I be here if I wasn’t fully capable? I’m more worried that you didn’t notice your watch was gone.” You smirked to him. He laughed.  
“I think we’ll get along splendidly.”


	54. Chapter 54

The two of you rode the elevator down to the lab for Q to prep you for your case.  
“Ah, hello you must be our new 009!” A man younger than what you expected greeted the two of you once the elevator door opened.  
“Yes, Y/N Gregson.” You smiled.  
“Before we get down to the details of your next mission, I’ll need you both to roll up your left sleeve. Just a tracking device, needs to be implanted. M insisted on it after Miami.” Q said, looking to Bass.  
“He still mad about that?” Bass asked.  
“Just need to keep an eye on you.” Q smiled.  
“What happened in Miami?” You asked as the tracking device was injected into your arm.  
“007 stopped a bomb from destroying a Skyfleet prototype that was being unveiled.” Q answered.  
“Why would someone want to destroy it?” You asked.  
“When they analyzed the stock market after 9/11, the CIA discovered a massive shorting of airline stocks. When the stocks hit bottom on 9/12 someone made a fortune.” Q explained.  
“So the same thing was supposed to happen with Skyfleet stock. I’m guessing that someone lost around 100 million dollars betting the wrong way. Do we know who?” You asked.  
“Jesus, M wasn’t lying about you being incredibly quick. We think it’s a man known as Le Chiffre. Banker to the world’s terrorists.” Q said.  
“Are we certain it’s him?” You asked.  
“Well it would explain how he could set up a high-stakes poker game at Casino Royale in Montenegro. Ten players $10 million buy in, $5 million rebuy. Winner takes all.” Q said.  
“Potentially $150 million. So we’ll know where he’ll be. But you don’t want him dead do you? This Le Chiffre sounds like he doesn’t have $100 million to lose.” You said.  
“Has he been playing the stock market with his clients’ funds?” Bass asked, knowing the answer.  
“We can’t let him win this game. If he loses, he’ll have nowhere to run. We’ll give him sanctuary in return for everything he knows. We’re putting you in the game Bass, replacing someone who was playing for a syndicate.” Q explained.  
“And am I just a tag along?” You asked.  
“You’re to keep him out of trouble, learn the ropes, and work as a team.” Q explained, much to Bass’ displeased look.  
The two of you were on a train to Montenegro.  
“Where exactly is the money coming from?” You asked.  
“The treasury will wire it into my account at Montenegro.” Bass explained.  
“I suppose you’ve realized that if you lose, our government will have directly financed terrorism.” You quipped. He smirked but didn’t reply.  
“I’ve never played poker.” You confessed. “I suppose it’s just a matter of probability and odds. You play the man across from you, not the cards in your hand. I think I’d quite like the game.”  
“You’re good at reading people?” He asked.  
“You already know that. You’ve read the blog haven’t you?” You rolled your eyes.  
“Riveting stuff. Though it’s abnormal for a police officer to upgrade to a double-0, you must have connections. Friends in high places.” He said, waiting for you to confirm his suspicions.  
“I’ve gotten to where I am because I’m good at what I do. Much like you. It doesn’t matter where you come from.” You said defensively.  
“I knew I liked you.” He smirked.  
“Really? That’s surprising since you consider women disposable pleasures instead of meaningful pursuits. Sentiment is a chemical defect found on the losing side Mr. Bass, and I hate losing.” You said. “Your charm may work on every other woman in this planet, but it won’t work on me.”  
He only smirked and nodded, he loved a challenge. He didn’t know how truly broken you were, and that no one alive could fix you.  
Your train arrived in Montenegro and a car was waiting to take the two of you to the hotel. A contact slipped Charles an envelop before he joined you in the cab. You raised your eyebrow as he opened in on the drive.  
“It’s just last-minute details.” He said, while reading it. “Apparently we’re very much in love.”  
“Do you usually leave it to porters to tell you this sort of thing?” You joked.  
“Only when the romance has been necessarily brief. I’m Mr. Arlington Beech, professional gambler, and you’re Ms. Stephanie Broadchester.” He said casually, hiding a smirk.  
“I am not.” You argued, while trying to grab the papers out of his hand.  
“You’re gonna have to trust me on this. We’ve been involved for quite a while, hence the shared suite.” He smirked.  
“But my family is strict Roman Catholic, so for appearances’ sake it’ll be a two-bedroom suite.” You smirked back, two can play this game.  
“I do hate it when religion comes between us.” He smiled.  
“Religion and a securely locked door. Am I going to have a problem with you, Bass?” You asked.  
“No, don’t worry. You’re not my type.” He answered honestly.  
“Smart?” You asked.  
“Single.” He answered, looking out the window as the car arrived at the hotel.  
The two of you exited the car and approached the reception desk to check in.  
“Welcome to the Hotel Splendid. Your name, sir?” The receptionist from the five-star hotel asked.  
“Charles Bass. You’ll find the reservation under Beech.” He spoke, arrogantly blowing your cover instantly. Had he no respect for protocol or espionage?  
You stormed off the to elevator, leaving him to check in.  
“Very funny.” You said, “No wonder M thinks you need a babysitter.”  
“Look, if Le Chiffre is that well-connected, he knows who I am and where the money’s coming from. Which means he’s decided to play me anyway. So he’s either desperate or he’s overly confident, but either way, that tells me something about him. And all he gets in return is a name he already has.” Bass argued.  
“And now he knows something about you. He know’s you’re reckless.” You spoke as the elevator opened and you entered, quickly hitting the close door button before your partner could enter. “Take the next one. There isn’t enough room for me and your ego.”  
That afternoon the two of you met with your Treasury contact, Rene Mathis, for lunch. He was an older man with greying hair and a smooth accent. He informed you and Bass that Le Chiffre had arrived yesterday, and spend the time re-establishing old relationships.  
“The chief of police and he are now quite close.” Mathis said. “He’s the one with the mustache over my left shoulder.”  
You and Bass both focused your eyes on the man with two woman at his lunch table.  
“That could make life difficult.” You said.  
“And quite possibly shorter. He’s not a very subtle man. I thought about trying to buy his services, but we frankly couldn’t afford to outbid Le Chiffre.” He replied, and suddenly three police cars surrounded the outdoor patio and you raised an eyebrow suspiciously.  
“So I decided it was cheaper to supply his deputy with evidence that we were bribing the chief. It’s amazing what you can do with photoshop these days. I think your odds are improving, Mr. Bass.” He said as the police chief was arrested.  
Back at the hotel you were in the washroom getting ready in a silk robe when Bass knocked on the door. He entered with a long gown on a hanger and hung it on the back of the door.  
“Something you expect me to wear?” You asked.  
“I need you looking fabulous. So that when you walk up behind me and kiss me on the neck, the players across from me will be thinking about your neckline and not about their cards. Do you think you can do that for me?” Charles asked.  
“I’ll do my best.” You smirked smugly. He exited the room before quickly returning holding up the dinner jacket you had gotten him.  
“I have a dinner jacket.” He argued.  
“There are dinner jackets, and dinner jackets. This is the latter. And I need you looking like a man who belongs at that table.” You said, returning to applying some mascara.  
“How the f–” He stopped himself. “It’s tailored.”  
“I sized you up the moment we met. Don’t look so surprised, I told you I’m good at what I do.” You said, and he left the room. Your smile faded and a memory of Sherlock flooded your mind. You missed being constantly outsmarted by him, it was exhausting being the smartest one the in the room with no one to talk to. Alone in the sky with no way to land, and the only man you could save you was dead.


	55. Chapter 55

Charles left to begin the poker game at Casino Royale, while you were left in the hotel room to make a grand entrance once the game had begun. You entered and made your way behind Bass. You bent down and kissed his cheek.  
“Weren’t you supposed to enter so the others could see you?” He whispered.  
“Was I, forgive me.” You smirked. “Good luck darling.” You looked around the table before making your way over to the bar. You met up with your contact Mathis, though you didn’t trust him as far as you could throw him.  
“I suppose I don’t have to tell you how beautiful you look. Half the people at the table are still watching you.” He smiled and you didn’t reply.  
You watched the game carefully, you were on high alert. Bass suddenly excused himself from the table and made his way over to you and Mathis.  
“Is he watching?” He asked Mathis, about Le Chiffre.  
“Yes.” He answered, and Charles quickly captured your lips, catching you by surprise.  
“I thought we had dispensed with covers, ‘Mr. Beech’.” You argued.  
“No. We dispensed with one that was of no use and created another that is.” Charles answered, and tried to kiss you again but you turned your head.  
“This is me in character pissed off because you’re losing so fast we won’t be here past midnight. Oddly, my character’s feelings mirror my own.” You said as Charles reached for his martini at the bar behind you.  
“It was worth it to discover his tell. The twitch he has to hide when he bluffs.You get the bug?” He asked Mathis, who handed him a small device before returning to the poker table.  
The game had been going on for four hours now, and frankly you were a little bored. They were now going to take a short for an hour before resuming. You watched Bass place the bug on Le Chiffre sneakily as he passed and you made your way over to him.  
He took you by the hand and you followed him out to the reception table where he received another parcel in a large yellow envelope. Clearly his gun. You opened it for him once you were alone in the elevator. He took out his phone to track the device he had planted and you quickly traveled to that floor.  
You heard a scream once you had exited the elevator. Bass pushed himself in front of you and continued cautiously down the hall. He ushered you towards the door to the stairs, but suddenly the door with the screaming inside was opened and Bass kissed you to seem less suspicious in the hallway. The men who had just exited the door must have noticed his earpiece, because they quickly opened fire and Charles pulled you into the stairwell. One of the men was thrown down over the railing and hit the ground four floors below. You knew he was dead on impact, but the sound of his body hitting the ground was too familiar to you. Watching him fall reminded you of Sherlock.  
You couldn’t dwell for too long because a second man came through the door, armed with a machete. He immediately pinned Charles to the wall, but was thrown down a small flight of stairs as you quickly rushed down before he could reach you. He grabbed your ankle and pulled, you fell to the floor, trying to grab onto the railing. He raised his knife to strike you, but Bass knocked it from his hand.  
You had now made it to the bottom with the first body whose blood was now covering the concrete. Bass had the second man in a throat hold, but he was reaching for the gun that had been knocked from Charles’ hand. You lunged for it and reached it before he could. You raised it to fire at him, but knew with one wrong motion you could hit Charles. You watched as the light left his eyes, Charles’ grip on his throat killing him.  
The game was going to begin again soon so you made Charles go up to the room and change, his clothes were now covered in blood. You told him you would take care of the bodies.  
After hiding them in a cupboard at the bottom of the stairs and contacting Mathis, you returned up to the room. You didn’t know how long it had been, but Charles soon returned to the room. The game must have been set on hold for the night.  
You were on the balcony, a glass of wine in your hands when Bass found you. You hadn’t had a drink since that night when Mycroft found you, but tonight’s events in the stairwell brought you right back to that night, to Sherlock.  
“What’s wrong?” Charles asked, knowing you didn’t drink.  
You shook your head as a tear slid down your cheek, that hadn’t happened in a while either.  
“It’s okay, I’m here.” Charles said, holding your head to his chest. “Do you want to talk about it?”  
You nodded, and told him everything. About Sherlock, about the fall, about the miscarriage, about your darkest moment. And he listened and understood. Your heart may have been cold and broken, but there was always one person that still made you feel. And that man was Sherlock Holmes. Even though he was gone, every time something reminded him of you the last few pieces of your heart were broken again. He was the exception. You divorce yourself from emotions, except when they dealt with him.  
As long as Sherlock Holmes remained in your head and in your heart, you would never be able to move on this this new life of yours. That night after Charles left for his own room, you wrote your last letter to Sherlock. You needed to let him go, for good. He was dead, and he was the reason you had become this cold hearted killer.  
Sherlock,  
Even with my slurred words and uneven steps, you’re the only thing on my mind. My whole life has changed because of you. When I first met you, it was good change, but ever since you left me, the change killed me. It killed everything that you used to love about me. All I have left of you are the memories. Memories are the only things that don’t change when everything else does. That’s not the reason I’m writing this though. It’s because I don’t want to remember you anymore. I can’t remember you anymore. I need to let you go, for good.  
I feel your eyes on me when I know you’re not there. I can’t move on, I’m too ashamed to do it with you watching me. This is never ending, we have been here before. But I can’t stay this time because I don’t love you anymore. Please stay where you are, don’t come any closer. Don’t try to change my mind, I’m being cruel to be kind. I can’t love you in the dark. I feel like we’re oceans apart. There’s so much space between us, we’re already defeated. Everything’s changing. You gave me something I couldn’t live without. But I don’t want to carry on like everything is fine. Every word I said, you know I’ll always mean. It meant the world to me that you were in my life, but I want to live not just survive.  
Without you I’m not dead, but I’m not alive either. I’m just a ghost with a beating heart. A heart that is no longer capable of love. You wouldn’t like the person I’ve become. I’m a killer now, and the worst part is that I like it. I like the way it makes me feel, the way it makes me forget. Everything changed me, and I don’t think you can save me.  
Y/N Gregson


	56. Chapter 56

The next morning the poker match continued. You watched carefully as Charles raised $500,000. Your breath hitched in your throat. That was a lot of money. A lot of money that could not be used to fund terrorism. You watched Le Chiffre as everyone waited for his next move.  
“Look, it’s the tell. He’s bluffing.” Mathis whispered, now standing at your side. “My god, Charles was right.”  
Le Chiffre raised one million. You looked to James, praying for his eyes to meet yours. Something was up, you could feel it. He needed to look at you, you had to tell him somehow.  
“Seems someone knows something I don’t.” the American at the end of the table said, folding. There was something familiar about him, besides the obvious nationality.  
Charles raised two million, still not catching your eye. You had a gut feeling, something was about to happen, and you needed Bass still in this game.  
“I’m all in.” Le Chiffre said. You placed your head in your hands, knowing Charles is going to do the same thing. He would have to go all in to call his bluff, but you weren’t so sure he is bluffing. You weren’t sure who to believe.  
“Call.” Charles said, going all in. Charles had good cards, full house, kings and aces. Maybe this wasn’t a bad plan after all. Everyone waited for Le Chiffre to show his cards.  
Four jacks.  
Bass was finished. The game took an hour break, but unless we could somehow secure that 5 million rebuy, there was no way we were winning this game.  
You found Charles on the balcony off the lobby a few minutes later and joined him.  
“I’m going to need the 5 million dollar rebuy.” He muttered.  
“I know, there’s no way the treasury will go for it.” You explained, trying to use reason.  
“Look, I made a mistake. I was impatient, maybe I was arrogant, but I can beat him.” Charles argued.  
“Listen to me, I know you can do this, but you have to take your ego out of it.” You retorted. He stormed off, back into the casino. You stayed outside a minute, letting the cool breeze calm you before returning to this mess you now call a life. You were going to have to be the strong one, you could do this.  
Once inside you saw Charles descending the stairs with a knife in his hand, trying to hide it. He was mad, he was going to kill Le Chiffre. You couldn’t let this happen.  
The American passed in front of you, and you quickly deduced him before grabbing his arm, he turned around quickly.  
“Can I help you miss?” He asked.  
“Langley.” You said, deducing he worked for the CIA, his eyes seemed to pop for a second before you continued, “Circus, need your help. Stop him” You motioned your head to Bass. He immediately understood.  
You watched as he met Bass at the stairs, grabbing his arm with the knife and whispering something to him. You watched and smiled as your plan played out. You were a fixer. Just call me Olivia Pope, because it’s handled.  
You made your rounds around the room and waited for Bass to approach you. He did, with a martini in his hands.  
“We’re in the clear.” He said quietly.  
“You got the money?” You asked, faking surprise.  
“Langley is staking us, the man at the end of the table, Felix Leiter. He’s bleeding chips and knows we have a better chance of actually winning.” Charles explained.  
“The CIA? That’s fantastic!” You said, and he had no ideas.  
“Appears so. I still have to win though.” He argued.  
“You can, I know you can. Just be smart. And don’t do anything stupid.” You smiled, and he took your hand in his as you both re-entered the private poker room.  
That sensation was foreign to you. Sherlock never held hands, ever. You were not used to it, but grateful for the human contact.   
You lead Charles back to his seat before grabbing his tie and pulling his lips to yours. You knew you had the attention of the whole table, as was your intention.  
“Hope that makes up for earlier.” You whispered in Bass’ ear, referring to how he wished you to enter the other night.  
He sat back at the table casually, Le Chiffre seemed surprised that he managed the re-buy.  
“Shall we up the blinds?” He said in a cocky manner. You gave him an unsatisfied look as if to say ‘Look where your ego got you the first time, tone it down a notch’. He gave you a gentle smile, providing you with relief.  
The game continued for hours, and honestly you were bored. On the bright side, Charles was doing extremely well. You were able to relax a bit, he was able to win back nearly everything he had before.  
There were only five people left in the game when Charles’ latest martini arrived straight from the bar. His eyes met yours and you watched him carefully. He quickly looked to his drink, which he had just set down after taking a drink.  
“Deal me out.” He said suddenly, and you stood in shock. What the hell was he doing?  
He quickly left the table, and the American turned and met your eye as well, clearly concerned. More so for the potential loss of 5 million, but also for Bass.  
You watched as he grabbed an empty glass and salt shaker from a table and brought them with him to the restroom. What was he doing? Then it hit you.  
Was he just poisoned? Jesus!  
You ran to follow him as he burst out of the door, swaying slightly. You needed to help him, but what could you do?  
You quickly grabbed him and rushed him outside to the Aston Martin waiting in the lot. You knew besides a gun, there had to be something in there that could help you.  
You pulled open the passenger door and shoved him into the seat. You opened the secret compartment in front of the airbags and quickly jabbed the needle into his arm.  
You called back to headquarters, there had to be someone there that could tell you exactly what to do to help. The needle in his arm now was connected to a device that allows them to read his heart rate, blood toxin levels, and much more.  
“009 you need to do exactly what I tell you or he’ll be dead within two minutes.” Your contact at home told you.  
“I’m all ears, dammit, just help me.” You yelled back.  
“Remove the defibrillator from the pouch”, and you did just that, “Attach the leads to his chest.”  
You ripped open his dress shirt in a way that would surely be sexy if not for the current situation. You stuck them onto his smooth chest, and waited for further instruction. You waited for the charge to hit full and were about to press the red button to shock him.  
“Wait, don’t press the red button yet Gregson!” They quickly yelled, changing their mind.  
“His heart’s gonna stop! What the hell do you want me to do?” You yelled back, your finger hovering over the button.  
“Take the blue combipen, Gregson. Mid-neck into the vein. That’ll counteract the digitalis.” He said, they finally scanned and found out what poison was in his system.  
“I’m so sorry Charles.” you said, grabbing the epipen looking device and gabbing it into his jugular.  
“He’s going to pass out in a few seconds, we need to keep his heart going. Press the red button now!” They yelled, and you slammed your finger onto it.  
You waited for something to happen and nothing did.  
“Something’s wrong.” You said, still pressing the button. He was slipping, and slipping fast. You picked up the red wire that connected the lead to the charge pack, somehow it had disconnected.  
You looked up and Charles was unconscious. You quickly reattached the wire and slammed your finger down onto the red button.  
He jolted awake, just staring at you for a few seconds before taking your hand.  
“You okay?” He asked me, you looked at him, shocked.  
“Me? You nearly just died. Don’t do that to me again.” You said, helping him sit back up.  
“Thank you.” He said, and you nodded, not convinced that he was okay.  
“We need to get you to a hospital.” You stated.  
“Yes, will do. As soon as I win this game.” He said, struggling to stand out of the car.  
“You’re not seriously going back there?” You asked.  
“Wouldn’t dream of it.” He said, walking off.  
“Charles!” You called after him, he was talking nonsense, he was in no state to return to playing poker right now.  
You followed him as he sat back down at the table, Le Chiffre looked up in disbelief.  
“Sorry. That last hand, nearly killed me.” He said, a smirk on his face. Cheeky bastard. He nearly dies and the first thing he does is make a joke out of it.  
Four players left, that was it. The American was out, and now standing at the bar next to you.  
“24 million in the pot already. How’d you know I’d stake him?” He asked you.  
“‘Cause I knew he could win, and considering the cards you had at the time there was no way you’d stay in much longer, it’s really simple-” You stopped talking when you heard Charles’ voice at the table behind you.  
“Forty million, 500 thousand, all in.” He spoke, and you whipped around. You noticed everyone else at the table was all in. This was the end. It all comes down to the cards now.  
Charles flipped his cards. A straight flush! He had actually pulled this off! The American next to me chuckled.  
“He’s all yours.” Charles told him, you looked to him confused. Before signing and rolling you eyes. In the deal for the 5 million rebuy he must have promised the Americans that they could take in Le Chiffre when Charles won. There’s always something you missed. Well, no one’s perfect.  
“Much appreciated, brother.” The American said before walking off.  
“Well I think we could consider this a win. We might not be the ones to take him in, but the CIA isn’t exactly saintly so Le Chiffre won’t hold up long. Plus he’ll no longer be funding terrorism, so top marks Bass.” You applauded him for his performance.  
“M might be slightly disappointed, but if he could manage any emotion other than that it would shock me.” He said, causing you to laugh.  
“Can we get back to London now? God, you don’t realize how much you miss it until you leave.” You said, absentmindedly.  
“Sure, on one condition.” He smirked.  
“Oh dear God, what?” You asked.  
“Dinner, with me. In London when we get back. As a way of saying thank you for saving my life.” He said, genuinely.  
“Ah Bass, you are my damsel in distress, I could never say no. Surprisingly I think we make a pretty good team, perhaps M will pair us up more often.” You suggested.  
“You- Y/N Gregson- want to spend more time with me? I’m flattered. I thought you said my charm wouldn’t work on you.” He smirked as the two of you packed.  
“Don’t think that it has Charles. You’ll need someone around to save your ass the next time you get poisoned or shot. I’m just saying I wouldn’t mind being that someone.” You explained.  
“Sure, of course.” He smiled sarcastically, and you punched him playfully.  
“Our plane’s waiting Charles, and I really don’t want to miss it, so if you could please hurry up.” You scolded.  
“London, that great cesspool into which all loungers and idlers are irresistibly drained.” Charles muttered as he finished packing.  
“I prefer to call it home, but to each his own.” You smirked, throwing your bag over your shoulder.


	57. Chapter 57

You had finally returned to your flat after a few more fast paced cases with Bass. Most of them in Russia and Europe. You felt like you hadn’t taken a breath since you started. You and Bass had been working together for nearly a year now, and you made surprisingly great partners. You had barely unpacked your bag when you heard your doorbell ring and Bass’ voice over the intercom.  
“Y/N, it’s me. Gonna let me up?” He asked.  
You sauntered over to the intercom and pressed your finger to the button to reply.  
“Should I?” You asked.  
“Me ringing the bell is really just a formality. You and I both know I could pick this lock in 5 seconds.” He jokes.  
“Yes, well you’ve always been slow. The inconvenience is tempting though.” You joked, finally pressing the buzzer to let him in.  
Before he made it up the stairs you took your letters to Sherlock out of your duffel bag you were unpacking and stuffed them into a drawer on your TV stand. You were better. Nearly a year and a half had passed and you were able to say his name now without breaking down. You thought that was progress. Your life just felt empty now, even though you were barely alone.  
When you were in London between assignments you had tea with Mrs. Hudson at least once a week. She hadn’t let 221B out, and you couldn’t bear to possibly enter it. You’d met John once for lunch since, and he was clearly still not okay. Compared to him you were doing well. Of course he had no idea what you were doing now, though he did know you had quit your job at Scotland Yard. You tried to keep an eye on him, but you were so busy. You had found out that he was seeing someone now and it was pretty serious. You were happy for him. As for you, not much had changed. You worked. It was the one thing you could do to keep your mind off of him.  
Bass walked through the door, and after a snide remark about the state of your flat, he made his way over to the couch.  
“You know what we need to do tonight?” He asked, putting his feet up.  
“Remove your feet from my coffee table?” You asked, and he huffed and moved them back onto the ground.  
“We need to go out tonight. Maybe a pub or something?” He said and you rolled your eyes.  
“You’ve got nothing better to do than take a recovering alcoholic to a pub?” You asked.  
“Well you don’t have to drink, but I need to.” He whined.  
“Fine, but we should go now, I’ve got things to do and I’m not staying out all night with you.” You argued.  
“I know just the place.” He stood, grabbed his coat, and lead you outside. You both hopped in a cab and headed to the pub. You were okay being around alcohol, and you would probably be okay drinking it. It just brings you back to a bad time in your life, one that you don’t want to remember or repeat.  
“No, no, no a blonde drug smuggler who was exposed by an abbot with unusual powers of observation and deduction.” You heard as you entered through the door of the pub, Bass behind you.  
“A blonde woman hiding amongst bald monks, that wouldn’t exactly take Sherlock Holmes.” You heard another voice return and quickly whipped around.  
“Y/N?” Anderson asked, and your eyes grew wide in surprise.  
“Anderson? Greg?” You asked, surprised to see them both here.  
“God, how’ve you been?” Greg asked, hugging you.  
“Busy.” You smiled, Charles now standing next to you.  
“Who’s this?” Anderson asked politely. He had really let himself go: overgrown hair, beard, frumpy sweater. He must have gone downhill after he was fired from the Yard.  
“Charles Bass. Friend of Y/N.” He smiled, shaking their hands.  
“Colleague.” You corrected him.  
“It’s been nearly a year, I think we can be considered friends now.” He joked, and you smiled to him.  
“Charles this is my old boss Greg Lestrade, and an old colleague Phillip Anderson.” You formally introduced them.  
“So you’re doing well. New job and all. What exactly do you do?” Greg asked.  
“We kill people for money.” Charles said casually, and you laughed, panicking inside.  
“He’s joking, of course. We work at the Natural History Museum. I run tours and we work on restorations and curations.” You smiled and lied.  
“That sounds interesting, I didn’t know you were interested in that kinda stuff.” Greg smiled politely.  
“Lifelong passion of mine.” You smiled, looking down to the table and the map Anderson had been showing Lestrade.  
“What’s this?” You asked more seriously now. You heard the conversation as you were entering, you knew exactly what this was about. They both stared at you, almost afraid to talk.  
“Phillip, he’s dead. Trust me, I wish he wasn’t. Don’t you think of all people I’d know if he wasn’t.” You said, looking to Anderson who seemed unconvinced.  
“Well then how do you explain this?” He flipped the map. “Signing number 2, The Incident in New Delhi.”  
“You haven’t been titling these, have you?” You asked, slightly concerned for Anderson’s mental health.  
He then continued to explain how their police inspector had solved a case by measuring the depth of which a chocolate flake had fallen through an ice cream cone. Which in all honesty sounded ridiculous and made up.  
“Clever man, Inspector Rajesh.” Greg said, and Anderson scoffed.  
“What police inspector could have made that deduction.” He argued, and you and Charles had pulled up a chair.  
“Well thank you.” Greg said sarcastically.  
“You know how Sherlock never took the credit when he solved all of your cases.” Anderson began.  
“He didn’t solve all of my cases,” Greg said defensively.  
“He’s out there, he’s hiding, but he can’t stop himself from getting involved. It’s so obviously him, if you know how to spot the signs.” Anderson rambled, and you shook your head in disbelief. If Sherlock was out there, solving inconsequential cases out in the world, he would have told you, but none of that mattered. You don’t jump off a building and live.  
“Klein Brothers, the Tower House thing.” Lestrade began listing cases he had solved on his own, or with moderately little help from you.  
“The Kensington Ripper.” You helped, adding another.  
“You got Tower House wrong.” Anderson stated and Lestrade argued while he flipped the map again.  
“Sighting 3 The Mysterious Juror.” Anderson said, and Greg banged his head on the table.  
“I’m gonna need a drink.” Charles said, standing to head to the bar.  
“Make that two.” You rolled your eyes. What had happened to Anderson? He used to hate Sherlock, now he’s obsessed with him.  
You tuned out of this story but according to Anderson, Sherlock swayed some murder trial in Copenhagen. Because obviously in his free time, when he’s not being dead, he’s on jury duty.  
“It had to be him! There’s no one else it can be, don’t you see?” Anderson asked as Charles handed you a beer.  
“Phillip, I see that you lost a good job fantasizing about a dead man and him coming back to life, and I know why you want that to happen. I want it to happen, but it’s just not gonna.” You said honestly, but something told you he wasn’t going to stop.  
Anderson and Greg eventually left and you and Charles now sat at the table by yourselves.  
“Has he always been like that?” Charles asked.  
“Oh God no. He was an ass and he hated Sherlock. He helped take Sherlock down, planting the doubt in everyone’s mind that he was some sort of killer. Now he’s obsessed. He came and visited me in the hospital and I could tell he felt guilty, but I didn’t know it was this bad.” You answered, you noticed Charles was looking down at his watch.  
“Sorry, am I boring you answering your question?” You asked rudely.  
“No, I’m seeing if we have time to grab dinner. Hungry?” He asked. You smiled and rolled your eyes. You seemed to be doing that a lot lately when you were around Bass.  
“I suppose, but nowhere too nice I’m not dressed for it.” You told him, and he smirked, clearly knowing a place.  
The two of you walked down the street, apparently the restaurant was close by or at least walking distance. The two of you chatted before you were interrupted by someone calling your name.  
“Sergeant Gregson?” You heard behind you and turned to see Kitty Riley, the reporter from the SUN. You stopped and she ran up to you.  
“Sergeant Gregson, I’ve been trying to find you for a while now.” She began and you cut her off.  
“Then you’re not a very good investigative journalist. And I don’t work for Scotland Yard anymore so you don’t have to call me Sergeant.” You told her.  
“I wanted to apologize. After everything with Sherlock Holmes I tried to find you, but you sort of went off the grid. You quit your job, weren’t in your flat, or the country it seemed-” She said and you cut her off again.  
“Is there a point here Kitty?” You sped her along.  
“If there’s anything I can ever do for you, I’ll do it.” She said, clearly repentant.  
“Clear his name.” You said.  
“What?” She asked, shocked.  
“Recant your story. Clear his name. Paint Moriarty as the manipulative villain who even got to you and forced Sherlock to his death after smearing his name. He was an innocent detective who saved lives and solved crimes that even the police force couldn’t. I think we owe him at least that.” You said, and Kitty nodded somberly.  
You began to walk away and you felt Charles grab your hand. What you didn’t know was that Kitty took a photograph. You also didn’t know that it was going to be published in the SUN tomorrow with the headline ‘Hello Detective: Gregson Returns and Who’s Her New Arm Candy?”.  
“Can you believe this? That bitch!” You yelled, throwing the paper down on the coffee table, Charles trying to calm you. He had slept on your couch last night after having a little too much to drink.  
“Well think of it this way. Normally women are objectified in these kind of papers, and I’m the arm candy and you’re the smart, powerful lead. I’d take that as a win for the feminist movement.” He said, and you didn’t know whether to slap him or not.  
“Like I give a damn about that! I’m an international assassin, I can’t have my face plastered on Page 6 everytime I leave my flat!” You ranted.  
She needed to be taken care of. No, you weren’t going to kill her. There were worse things you could do. You had to see Mycroft, he would have this taken care of. You didn’t care if he paid her off or got her fired, but Kitty Riley needed to learn her place. As an undercover government asset, this threatened the safety of not only yourself but of the nation.  
You threw on a dress and stepped outside your flat to call a cab to take you to the Diogenes Club when you saw a black car pull up. You rolled your eyes, did he always have to be two steps ahead of you?  
“Hello Giles, it’s been an age.” You said, sliding into the car.


	58. Chapter 58

“Mycroft I…” You spoke as you walking into his office before abruptly stopping.  
“…one of the best I’ve had in years.” You heard the end of a conversation that stopped as you entered the room.  
“M? Sir.. I wasn’t expecting to see you here.” You stuttered, seeing your boss standing next to Mycroft’s desk. There was tension in the air and it made you uneasy.  
“Well I hope you’ve enjoyed your brief vacation 009 but I’m afraid it will have to be cut short.” M began, you looked to Mycroft and he had his head down, clearly stressed.  
“May I ask why?” You asked, approaching the desk.  
“It’s a matter of extreme discretion, but one of our men has gotten himself in a little over his head and we need you to extract him.” M said, and you nodded, hoping for him to continue.  
“He’s been deep undercover for some time now, so we can’t give you many details about his appearance as they would have changed frequently. We can tell you where he is expected to be, and that he has been going under the name Sergei Romanov. We suspect he’s being held in a military prison camp off the grid in Serbia.” M informed you.  
“You’d risk two agents for him? What’s so important about this guy?” You asked, your curiosity getting the better of you.  
“He’s an expert in his field and we’re getting intel on an imminent terror attack in London that we need him on. And we’re not risking two agents, just one.” M corrected you, and you raised an eyebrow.  
“You want me to do this alone? I just assumed Bass would be working with me, I mean we’ve worked together on nearly every case over the last year or so.” You stated.  
“I trust you, and Mycroft trusts you. Plus I believe you speak Serbian, that might speed up the process. Now, Mycroft has your passports and other paperwork you might need. I’ve got to run, I’ve got a meeting with the Home Secretary.” M said, nearing the door and you nodded.  
“Oh and 009,” he stopped and you turned to face him, “thank you and good luck.”  
He spoke cryptically and you turned back to Mycroft with a brow raised after M closed the door.  
“He says that like I’m not coming back.” You joked lightly.  
“You’re not. Well not to MI6 at least.” Mycroft said, gathering some papers at his desk.  
“I beg your pardon?” You asked, shock.  
Mycroft slid another file towards you, and you flipped it open to find a passport and other official documents. You opened it expecting to see a made up name, and were taken aback when the name you saw was your own… on a British passport.  
“What is this?” You asked.  
“Your citizenship. I had to pull a few strings, you haven’t met the required live in time but I think it will come over better if the Secret Service’s new Director General is at least a legal citizen.” He cracked a small smile.  
“You want me to run MI5?” You asked, not thinking he was serious.  
“Well it’s more of an assistant position, a figure head. I run it but as far as the public is concerned you would be the one calling the shots. I know what you’re thinking, and yes you are ready for this. It’s time you take that step forward in your career, stop selling yourself short. You’re capable of much more, and quite frankly we need you. I need you.” Mycroft said.  
“What about the agent extraction?” You asked.  
“The position becomes effective upon your return. Now Mallory mentioned the matter of your discretion. Agent 007 is to be kept ‘out of the loop’ so to speak.” He said.  
“I can’t believe this… I came here to talk to you about–” He cut you off.  
“Kitty Riley, yes she’s been taken care of. She’s been paid a meaningful sum and will serve her purpose as you step into your next role. She’s been moved to the Times where upon your arrive back into London she will write a story about your new appointment and convince the public of your capabilities. She’s no longer a problem. But… I do have to ask–” Mycroft began and it was your turn to cut him off.  
“About Bass.” You answered or him and he nodded. “There’s nothing going on between us. I’ve learned from my mistakes.”  
You took a deep breath and signed before continuing.  
“He stood right here and said that sentiment was a chemical defect found on the losing side. It’s just taken some time for me to realize that he was right. Don’t worry Mycroft. I’m not the same girl I was when I was with him. I work and I work and I work. It’s what I do and I’m good at it, and I don’t let anything else or anyone else get in my way.” You said coldly and he nodded, handing you your extraction file.  
“Good luck, I await your return.” He nodded, and you got to work.  
Once you returned home you found that Bass was gone, and you began planning out your mission. You would have to infiltrate their ranks to the highest levels… that would take a few weeks tops. After that it should be a breeze to find this ‘Sergei Romanov’, but getting him out might prove a harder feat. MI6 had a safe house a couple miles out in the woods from the Serbian hideout, so if you could get him there in one piece you would be home free.  
That night your brother called you and informed you that he, his wife, and two year old son would be coming to London on business and wanted to see you. You told him that you would be away for a few weeks for work, but offered them your flat to stay in for the time they were there. Apparently his wife was interviewing with a firm in London that she had been pursuing since their discharge from the military.  
The next morning you visited Q in the lab to pick up some equipment before you left. Last night you had cut your hair, and felt like a new woman. Strange how little things like that can make you feel so different.  
You were able to say goodbye to Bass before you left, and he promised you that if you got into too much trouble he’d come bail you out.  
You stuck to your plan and within two and a half weeks had infiltrated the ranks of the Serbian office. It was actually easier than you expected, just shoot some nobody in front of everyone and they’ll know you mean business. They realized it was easier to have you working for them than against them. Each time they got stir crazy and there were whispers of over throwing you, we repeat the process.  
By the third week you had access to prisoner logs.  
“Vladimir!” You called your new assistant into your new office. He rushed in, bowing slightly. They really were terrified of you. Plus you had given them some seemingly brilliant terrorism plans. Though they didn’t know that all of them had loopholes that would take the targeted government seconds to crack and take down. You were dismantling them from the inside out.  
“Дајте ми овај месец затвореника дневник.” You growled. Get me this month’s prisoner log.  
“Да мадам. Одмах.” Yes ma’am. Right away. He scattered out of the room, soon to return and handed you the file. You ripped it from his hand and began to flip through it before landing on the name Romanov, S. Though it didn’t have a cell number on it. He was being tortured, most likely for the information he had.  
“Таке ме овде.” You instructed, pointing to the file. Take me here. He nodded and complied.  
You soon found yourself sitting in the torture chamber as the agent was tied by his wrists and whipped for information. You had to wade in, but you needed to get rid of his torturer first. You could simply order him out, but you needed to increase the window of time he would be gone and lower suspicion. Though you had to act fast, ‘Sergei’ wouldn’t last much longer.  
His hair was past his shoulders, curls. His face was covered and his back was scarred.  
You opened your mouth to speak, but heard the soft, pained, whispers of ‘Sergei’ instead. The guard grabbed his hair and leaned closer.  
“Шта?” What?  
“Па, шта је рекао?” You asked with an authoritative tone. Well, what did he say?  
“He said that I used to work in the navy… where I had an unhappy love affair. That the electricity isn’t working in my bathroom… and that my wife is sleeping with our next door neighbour. The coffin maker… and if I go home now I’ll catch them at it. I knew it!” He yelled in Serbian, storming out of the room, leaving the two of you alone. How could he possibly know all that?  
“You have no idea the trouble it took to find you. My apologies for not interviewing faster, but you seemed to have this under control, Mr. Sergei Romanov. You must be pretty important for M to send a double 0 to extract you.” You spoke, and he shivered as if he hadn’t noticed you in the room.  
You stood and neared him, beginning to speak.  
“There’s an underground terrorist network active in London, M worries an attack is imminent, apparently you’re the man for the job–” You spoke as you walked toward him and stopped short when you reached your hand to lift his chin until your eyes met.  
You gasped and physically stumbled backwards.  
“Y/N?” The voice asked in a gruff tone.  
“Sherlock?” You whispered.  
You were so angry that you pulled your arm back, ready to hit him, but dropped it and covered your mouth at the sight of his battered and bruised body. You unconsciously moved to untie his arms, and his body collapsed onto you. You held him and helped him stand. You followed out our meticulous plan and got him to the safehouse.  
The two of you hadn’t spoken a word. Frankly you didn’t know what to say. You wanted to be angry, but clearly this time hasn’t been kind to him.  
You lit the fire of the freezing safehouse and put a kettle on the stove. He sat on the couch, staring into the fire, a blanket wrapped around him. You grabbed the first aid kit from your supplies and sat next to him. You reached for his shoulder to pull back the blanket and tend to his wounds but he flinched.  
“Sorry.” You whispered.  
He turned to face you, a face you had nearly forgotten but had haunted your every sunny day.  
You handed him a cup and some powerful painkillers. He took them gently, and allowed you to examine his wounds, you didn’t think he had any internal injuries, but the external ones were going to be painful and take time to heal.  
“Please say something.” He spoke.  
“I don’t know what to say, Sherlock.” You said and his name left your mouth with an unnatural feeling, it brought back every painful memory of the past two years.  
“You know why I did it. To protect you, and John, and Mrs. Hudson, and Greg. All of them.” He pleaded for your understanding.  
“I know. I just wish you would have trusted me enough to tell me your plan. A plan that changed my life too. A plan that affected me.” You argued.  
“You didn’t know?” He asked.  
“How the fuck would I have known? You jumped off a building! I spoke at your funeral! I visited your grave!” You yelled.  
“Mycroft was supposed to tell you. He told me you knew, that’s why we used your flat as a bolthole for the first few days before I was sent out.” Sherlock argued.  
“He never told me. He took me into his house, he took care of me. I didn’t know you were there, I would have wanted to see you before you left.” You said, a tear slipping down your cheek. That hadn’t happened in a while.  
“I thought you were angry with me, it made leaving that much harder. But I had to do it, I had to dismantle Moriarty’s network.” He said.  
You stood and walked towards the small kitchen. You didn’t know what to think. Your whole world had been turned upside down again. You placed both hands on the counter and hung your head, taking a deep breath.  
Sherlock had followed you into the kitchen.  
“I’m sorry, I don’t know what those two years must have been like for you.” He said, his compassion and sympathy was shocking.  
“You’re right, you don’t know, and you’ll never understand.” You shook your head.  
“You said M sent a double 0 to extract me. Is that who you’re working for now? MI6?” He asked.  
“I quit working at the Yard after you… left. And I visited my family, then I came back and I… it was a dark time for me. I fell into some dark habits and Mycroft pulled me out. He promised me a job if I sobered up and got clean. I trained and worked and at the time that was all I could do. I killed people, Sherlock. And I liked it. I’m not the same person you left two years ago, so please don’t pretend that I am.” You cried. You saw him motion to console you but you flinched away.  
“Uh, there’s food in the fridge. We leave at 5 tomorrow morning, I’m going to try to sleep.” You pointed to the bedroom and he nodded. You awkwardly left the room.  
You laid in bed thinking, staring at the ceiling for hours. You couldn’t sleep. Thoughts were running through your head. What was wrong with you? This was supposed to be the man of your dreams. This was your second chance. This was all you had wanted for the last two years, what was the matter?  
A scream jolted you up in bed. You rushed out to the living room, gun in hand and found Sherlock asleep on the couch. He was shaking, screaming and tears were streaming down this cheeks. He looked so young and innocent, like a child. You placed your gun on the table and knelt next to him, gently shaking him awake.  
“Y/N?” His eyes grew wide as he finally came to.  
“It’s okay, just a nightmare.” You touched his arm gently.  
He looked around confused for a few moments before focusing his eyes back on you.  
“Sorry to wake you.” He said in a husky sleep deprived voice.  
“I was up. Why don’t you take the bed, try to get a few hours in before we have to go?” You asked, helping him to his feet and leading him to the bedroom where he collapsed onto the bed. As you moved to close the door behind you on your way out you heard him call out to you.  
“Please stay Y/N.” He said, and maybe it was exhaustion or stupidity but you crawled into bed next to him. You were so tired that your eyelids were too heavy for you to handle.  
“I’m sorry for everything.” Sherlock whispered as you fell asleep.  
“Me too.” You muttered before slipping into oblivion.


	59. Chapter 59

You woke up the next morning to your alarm at 4:30. You sighed and rolled over and saw Sherlock still asleep. He was here. He was real. Part of you thought you had dreamt the whole thing. But now you had to get him home.  
You were still angry, but punching him would only make you feel better for a moment. Each time you think you’ve forgiven him, you’re taken back to every painful moment you had experienced over the last two years. You thought of how much easier things would have been if you would have just known. Even if he wasn’t there, you would have known he was somewhere out there. Not thinking he was dead.  
“You’re staring, Y/N.” His voice woke you from your trance.  
“Sorry… I just… Thought maybe it was all a dream.” You muttered and crawled out of the bed to go make some food. Just because you were mad at him doesn’t mean you were going to let him starve.  
Your journey back to London was long. Luckily you were receiving directions through your earpiece from Q back at headquarters most of the trip so you didn’t have to talk to Sherlock. What would you say? So.. How was the last two years without me? Oh and by the way when you left I was sort of pregnant with your child. Nope, probably wouldn’t go over well.  
You were now sitting in Mycroft’s office brooding. You had trusted him, and he betrayed you. He knew Sherlock was alive, and he was meant to tell you.  
Sherlock and Mycroft were chatting about Moriarty’s network as your eyes drifted to the Times sitting on his desk. You grabbed it and read. Front page, above the fold. You read the article by Kitty Riley, but not the one you expected to see after your conversation with Mycroft before you left.  
“After extensive police investigations, Richard Brook did indeed prove to be the creation of James Moriarty. Amidst unprecedented scenes, there was uproar in court as Sherlock Holmes was vindicated and cleared of all suspicion. Sadly, all this comes too late for the detective, who became something of a celebrity two years ago. Questions are now being asked as to why police let matters get so far. Sherlock Holmes fell to his dead from the top of London’s Barts Hospital. Although he left no note, friends say it’s unlikely it would have occurred without the acquittal of James Moriarty and the ensuing public defamation.”  
She did what you asked, gaining back your trust. At least someone around here could do as they were asked.  
“Have you seen this?” You asked Mycroft.  
“Yes, it seems she has trouble following orders.” Mycroft said.  
“Maybe just your orders, she did exactly as I told her. Maybe her loyalties lie elsewhere.” You said.  
“You told her to write this?” He asked.  
“A thank you might be warranted here. I believe it might help now that he’s actually back.” You said, insensitively.  
“I’m detecting a note of anger here, Y/N. Care to explain?” He shot back.  
“You were supposed to tell me, Mycroft! Not swoop in like a knight in shining armor and console the grieving damsel in distress! I trusted you, Mycroft.” You yelled, putting both of them on edge.  
“I had all intentions to, but after learning the state you were in I made a judgement call.” He argued. You knew exactly what he meant by ‘the state you were in’, and he didn’t mean mentally.  
“It wasn’t your call to make!” You shot back.  
“I was sparing you further pain, we weren’t even certain he was ever coming back. I didn’t want to give you false hope. I thought it would make it easier to move on, and then when you and Charles–” He began and you cut him off.  
“Don’t bring Charles into this!” You yelled, you knew he was only doing this to make Sherlock jealous.  
“But now things can go back to the way they were.” Mycroft insisted.  
“Things can never go back to the way they were Mycroft! Things have changed!” You yelled, storming out of the room.  
It was dark outside, nearly midnight. You caught a cab back to your flat. Mrs. Astor was already asleep, but you could still hear her TV running. You quietly trekked up the stairs, hoping not to wake her.  
When you entered your flat you saw toys scattered around the floor. You had completely forgotten that you let your brother stay here while you were gone. You pushed open the door slightly to your guest room and saw that they were all asleep. One happy little family. You rolled your eyes. You really were ruined. You spent the last two years convincing yourself that you wouldn’t love ever again, to the point where you believed it. Now he was back, and your heart wanted to jump right back to him, but your head knew better.  
You picked up all the toys in the living room and quietly slipped into bed.  
Meanwhile Sherlock was still in Mycroft’s office.  
“What do you mean ‘the state she was in’?” Sherlock asked after you stormed out.  
“She didn’t tell you? I thought you told each other everything.” Mycroft said, slightly angry that Sherlock told you that Mycroft lied.  
“She barely said two words to me, Mycroft! She can barely look at me!” Sherlock yelled.  
“Oh brother mine, were you really that oblivious? All the signs were there, an amateur could have deduced it. You basically lived with her and you still couldn’t tell.” Mycroft mocked him.  
“Tell what!” Sherlock yelled, wanting to know, needing to know.  
“She was pregnant Sherlock.” Mycroft shook his head. And Sherlock abruptly shut up. Slowly everything started to click in his might and he mentally beat himself for not realizing it sooner.  
“You knew?” Sherlock asked, angrily.  
“I urged her not to tell you, I knew it would make it harder for you to leave.” He tried to rationalize it.  
Sherlock moved towards the door, he was going to run after you.  
“Before you chase after her, we need to talk about the reason we brought you back. I need you to give this matter your full attention.” Mycroft said, and Sherlock sighed and sat back down. He knew it was better to let him finish.  
“Who’s Charles?” Sherlock asked before leaving.  
“Her partner, 007. They’re very close.” Mycroft said, insinuating something more.  
The next morning Sherlock grabbed the paper and noticed your name in the headline. Mycroft hadn’t mentioned anything to him about you leaving MI6. You were now Director-General of the Secret Service and MI5. Things really had changed. He traveled to your flat, only to find you weren’t in it. It was only 8 o’clock, you should have been there. He snooped around the room before finding the drawer in your TV stand.  
He was surprised to see his name on all the envelopes. They were handwritten letters. He sat and scanned through all of them.  
“My therapist thinks this will help, writing to you, saying the things I wanted to and never did. Yes, I went to a therapist, the same one John uses I think. How ironic.” He read.  
“It’s 2:00 AM and I’m still trying to figure out how everything went wrong so fast. Was there something I could have done? If only I had been smarter, if only I had figured out his plan sooner I could have helped you, I could have prevented this from happening.” A tear slipped from his cheek, he should have told you himself. He could have prevented this pain. He moved on to the next letter. The order told a story, a visual representation of your stages of grief. You last letter terrified him.  
“All I have left of you are the memories. Memories are the only things that don’t change when everything else does. That’s not the reason I’m writing this though. It’s because I don’t want to remember you anymore. I can’t remember you anymore. I need to let you go, for good.” He cried, you had moved on.  
“Without you I’m not dead, but I’m not alive either. I’m just a ghost with a beating heart. A heart that is no longer capable of love.” He caused this, and it broke him. His eyes left the tear stained letters to scan the room, landing on a box of toys.  
Mycroft had mentioned she was pregnant when he left, he hadn’t even considered that she had the child. Before he could inspect the box the door opened and you entered with a coffee in your hand and a copy of the Times.  
You nearly dropped your cup when you saw him.  
“What are you doing here?” You yelled. Your eyes scanned the room and landed on the letters scattered across the table. You quickly scooped them up and returned them to their drawer, closing it with a bang.  
“Those were personal.” You argued.  
“Well they were addressed to me.” He smiled, hoping to lighten the mood. You weren’t as amused. You noticed his eyes were red, had he been crying?  
“You were right, I could never understand, but please help me to.” He tried, and the door opened once more.  
Your nephew ran in and latched onto your leg. He reached up, wanted to be picked up.  
“How’s my favorite little boy! Did daddy take you to the park?” You asked, and he nodded with a big smile across his face. You saw Sherlock stiffen, and you weren’t sure why.  
Chuck walked in behind him.  
“Daddy!” Henry yelled, bouncing in your arms. Your brother smiled at you, and kissed you on the cheek. Then he realized they weren’t alone in the room.  
“Oh, uh hello, I’m Charles.” He smiled and shook Sherlock’s hand. Something was still off about him, and you couldn’t understand what.  
“Sherlock.” He introduced himself.  
“You’re Sherlock?” Chuck turned to you for confirmation and you just looked to the ground, “Do you have any idea what you put her through? I swear to God I’ll–”  
“Charles!” You scolded him, and he calmed down. “Why don’t you give us a minute.”  
He went into the guest room, leaving you alone with him.  
Sherlock was moving towards the door, clearly uncomfortable and flustered.  
“Auntie Y/N friend?” Henry spoke, and Sherlock whipped around.  
“That’s right Henry, he’s a friend of auntie Y/N. Now how about you go see daddy for a bit and wait for mommy to come home.” You sent him off after his father.  
Sherlock stopped in his tracks, and whipped around.  
“He’s not…?” He said quietly.  
“Not what?” You asked.  
“Mine?” He finished.  
“You thought… Oh. No, he’s my nephew. Chuck’s been staying here while I was in Serbia. His wife was training with a firm in London. Why would you think he was yours?” You asked.  
“Because Mycroft told me that you were pregnant when I left, the age matched and I just…” Sherlock said.  
“He told you that?” You asked and he nodded. “Then he failed to mention that I.. I lost the baby.”  
“Oh. Y/N I had no idea, I’m sorry.” He said, his voice low. Your head dipped and your hand moved to cover your mouth and you cried. Sherlock held you, and you let him.  
“I’m so sorry.” You choked, burying your head into his chest.  
“Don’t apologize, Y/N. Never apologize. I should have been here.” He whispered, rubbing soothing circles into your back.  
You pulled back and wiped your eyes.  
“I want to forgive you Sherlock, I really do. It’s just going to take time.” You said, and he nodded.  
“I understand.” He nodded.  
“I should go, I have some things I need to take care of. And I think you do to.” You stated.  
“I do?” He asked, and you raised an eyebrow.  
“John, Lestrade, Mrs. Hudson, Molly… and just a warning John will hit you, possibly a few times.” You said, grabbing your coat on your way out the door.  
“One more question–” Sherlock said and you turned around, “Mycroft said Charles was your partner not your brother.”  
“Oh ok, well I see how that could be confusing. He was talking about Charles, my partner but he didn’t know that my brother, Chuck was in town.” You explained. “He’s convinced that there was something going on between us, but I swore off relationships. Truth is you ruined me for anyone else.”  
You shut the door behind you, hailing a cab. If you were going to be starting a new job, you were going to need a good assistant. Someone who trusted their instincts, who would search for an answer and believed even if no one else did. You wanted someone like that in your corner, and you knew exactly who.


	60. Chapter 60

You handed some cash to the cabbie and made your way into the apartment complex. You checked that you had the right address and knocked on the door. You heard voices from within, and were surprised.  
“What? Are you out of your mind?” A familiar voice asked angrily from within.  
“I don’t see why not. It’s just as plausible as some of your theories.” An unfamiliar voice responded as the door was opened.  
“Y/N?” He asked.  
“Hello Philip. Sorry, I didn’t know you had company.” You replied, stepping into the small flat.  
“Oh my god. You’re her.” A raven haired girl with a nose ring asked.  
“I thought he was lying, but he does know her.” A man on the couch wearing a deerstalker said to the kid next to him.  
“Um… What’s this?” You asked, and your eyes drifted to the wall covered in papers and string. On second thought, was this a good idea? You still weren’t sure.  
Anderson rubbed his head, not wanting to answer.  
“It’s the Empty Hearse club, and you’re Y/N Gregson.” One of the member’s ran up to you, shaking your hand furiously.  
“Yes… but,” you turned to the wall again and realized the purpose of the club. Your mouth formed into an ‘O’.  
“Let me guess, Philip here formed this club so that like-minded people could meet and discuss theories. Theories on how Sherlock Holmes faked his death.” You said, and the members were all but giddy.  
“It’s like I’m living the blog.” One voice muttered.  
“Will you deduce me?” Another asked.  
“Wait a minute… You said theories on how Sherlock faked his death. You said ‘how’ not ‘if’. You think he’s still out there too.” Anderson said.  
“Listen, that’s not why I’m here–” you were cut off.  
“Oh My God!” The raven haired woman, Laura, pointed to the television behind you. You whipped around the read the headline ‘BREAKING NEWS: HAT DETECTIVE ALIVE’. Philip’s jaw dropped. Everyone was jumping up in excitement. All of their phones were blowing up.  
Laura jumped up and begged for a picture with you. You quickly obliged, and raised an eyebrow to Philip. He shook his head in an apology.  
“Ms. Gregson,” the youngest of the group asked and you turned to face him, “did you know the whole time?’  
You thought a moment on your reply, with your new job you knew it was best not to answer honestly. You didn’t need the press knowing every detail.  
“I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to discuss the matter. Now, Philip can I steal you for a bit?” You asked, he nodded following you out into the hall.  
“Did you know?” He asked, you sighed.  
“How ‘bout we go for a walk.” You said, and he followed you out into the street.  
“I’m assuming you read the paper.” You stated.  
“I do sometimes, Director-General.” He said, and you turned to him with a smile.  
“Naturally in my new position I’ll need to surround myself with people I can trust.” You began, your heels clicking on the pavement and your hands buried in your pockets.  
“You trust me?” He asked.  
“Well the jury’s still out on that one. But you do have a good head on your shoulders. I mean you’re no Sherlock Holmes, but you do trust your instincts. You were willing to search for an answer no matter how unpopular. I’m sure people told you that you were crazy and wrong and wasting your time, but nevertheless you persisted. And you were right.” You spoke.  
“So you want me to work for you, because I believed in Sherlock?” He asked, confused.  
“I’m putting you on the list of candidates. You’ll have to prove your worth and trust first. But your ability to travel down a path that no one else dare has brought you to my attention. You believed even when I didn’t, Philip. That’s very admirable.” You stated, a professional air about you. You felt powerful, and changed. You liked this feeling.  
“Why come to me now?” He asked.  
“I’m simply informing you so that you don’t get too worried if more government officials come by here within the next couple months. There will be an extreme vetting process for all candidates so I’m just warning you. I’m also giving you the opportunity to decline the offer.” You answered truthfully.  
“Can I think about it?” He asked.  
“Absolutely.” You answered.  
“Y/N?” He asked again, “You weren’t working for the National History museum, were you? And Charles Bass wasn’t your colleague?”  
“What makes you say that?” You stopped in your tracks, realizing you were back in front of his building.  
“Hell of a job upgrade.” He answered, and you smiled.  
“He was a colleague, but not at a museum.” You smiled. Anderson really had changed, the old Philip would have taken much longer to fit that one together.  
“Mind if I ask where?” He raised an eyebrow.  
“Good day, Philip.” you smirked, flagging down a cab.  
“Y/N.” He whined, wanting an answer.  
“Prove your worth, Philip. You already know the answer.” You said, getting into the cab and closing the door. This was his first test, let’s see how he does.  
“Where to ma’am?” The cabbie asked.  
“221 Baker Street, please.” You said against your better judgement. You really needed to look into getting your own driver like Mycroft had, maybe you poach Giles from him.  
You exited the cab onto Baker Street. You greeted Mrs. Hudson at the door and she was so happy to see you. She told you she would be up with tea in a moment.  
You stared up at the stairs, almost nervous to ascend them. You couldn’t remember the last time you did so. It had to be when you found the letter. You sighed and began your way up quietly. Could things really go back to the way they were? Surely things have changed. You have changed, but your one weakness has returned. You couldn’t let him in again that easily.  
“An agent gave his life to tell us that.” You heard Mycroft speaking from within the room.  
“Perhaps he shouldn’t have done. He was obviously just trying to show off.” Sherlock retorted as you stepped cautiously in the door.  
“Something you’re well acquainted with.” You muttered as you looked around the room, taking it all in again. Both men turned to you, surprised. Sherlock wore a smirk on his face, you saw a bruise forming on his busted lip. He looked you up and down, knowing where you had been.  
You approached him and sat on the arm of his chair out of habit. He turned to you, surprised by your actions, and you got a more clear look of his face.  
“I told you he would hit you.” You said, placing your hand under his chin, examining his wound.  
“Yes, well I believe this time I did deserve it.” He answered, and you looked down at the game of Operation sitting between the two brothers. You raised an eyebrow, and stood to examine the wall above the couch.  
“None of these markers of yours is behaving in any way suspiciously?” You asked, dragging your finger along the connected lines, examining all the data.  
“No Y/N, but you have to trust me. I’ll find the answer. But it will be in an odd phrase in an online blog or in an unexpected trip to the countryside or a misplaced lonely hearts ad.” Sherlock answered and you rolled your eyes. A ‘no’ would have sufficed.  
“I’ve given the Prime Minister my personal assurance you’re on the case.” Mycroft said, you nearly forgot he was there.  
“The Home Secretary is quite pleased as well.” You mentioned, if Mycroft was going to name drop you would too. A loud buzzing sound from the game caused you to turn around.  
“Oh bugger!” Mycroft muttered, placing the plastic heart back into the slot.  
“Can’t handle a broken heart. How very telling.” Sherlock retorted.  
“Don’t be smart.” He scolded him, and you rolled your eyes. The feud would never end between these two. You were walking around the flat, absent mindedly tidying it up.  
“That takes me back. ‘Don’t be smart, Sherlock, I’m the smart one’.” Sherlock said, in a voice that made you crack a smile.  
“I am the smart one.” Mycroft argued, clearly a sensitive point.  
“I used to think I was an idiot.” Sherlock replied, and you frowned. You couldn’t even imagine what it was like growing up with Mycroft. You were placing dishes in the sink now, attempting to create clear counter space.  
“Both of us thought you were an idiot, Sherlock. We had nothing else to go on, until we met other children.” Mycroft answered, laying back in John’s old chair.  
“Oh, yes, that was a mistake.” Sherlock answered and you smiled.  
“Ghastly. What were they thinking of?” Mycroft replied.  
“Probably something about trying to make friends.” Sherlock answered. Compared to Mycroft he was an expert on friends.  
“Oh, yes, friends. Of course, you go in for that sort of thing now.” Mycroft criticized Sherlock.  
“And you don’t? Ever?” Sherlock asked Mycroft.  
“He isn’t capable of having friends. His priorities lie elsewhere, for example, himself.” You fired back from the kitchen. He turned around and gave you a look as if to say ‘when are you going to get over this?’.  
Mrs. Hudson entered the room and interrupted what would surely have been another fight between you and Mycroft.  
“Yoo hoo!” She announced herself. You reentered the room and helped her with the tea tray.  
“Oh I just can’t believe it! Him sitting in his chair again,” She turned to you and smiled, clearing having forgiven him so soon, “Isn’t it wonderful Mr. Holmes?”  
“I can barely contain myself.” Mycroft muttered sarcastically.  
“Oh, he really can, you know.” Sherlock retorted. Mrs. Hudson laughed as she left the room.  
“Let’s play something different.” Sherlock suggested, clapping his hands together.  
“We don’t have time for games, Sherlock. London’s terror alert has been raised to critical.” You scolded.  
“Very well, back to work.” Mycroft said, leaving Baker Street.  
You stood in front of the couch, glancing at the wall once more. Your eyes landed on one picture and you froze.  
“Sherlock…” You muttered.  
“Hmm?” He asked, now appearing at your side.  
“That’s Sebastian Moran.” You pointed to the picture.  
“Yeah, he’s Peer of the Realm. Minister for Overseas Development.” He said nonchalantly.  
“He was Moriarty’s right hand man. Don’t you remember?” You said quietly, turning to him. His eyes grew wide after a moment of thought.  
“Jesus,” he said, placing his head in his hands.  
This was bigger than you thought. You sighed and grabbed your coat.  
“Keep me updated, let me know if you need anything. I’ll be at the office.” You said, on your way out the door.   
“Wait, Y/N,” He yelled, once you began down the steps. You turned around and he was standing in the doorway, his hands on each side of the frame.  
“Will you stay? I work better with you here, and it’s been an age.” He pleaded, those puppy dog eyes killing you.  
“How could I refuse?” You sighed with a smile, making your way back up the stairs.


	61. Chapter 61

You sat in Sherlock’s chair, legs crisscrossed and your laptop lying on top of them. Sherlock stood on the couch staring at his wall, writing down information and crossing things off as they came in through his Holmesless network, as you liked to call it.  
“Sherlock?” You asked, looking up from your research.  
“Hmm?” He replied.  
“Have you talked to John?” You asked.  
“I’ve tried talking to him. He made his position quite clear.” He answered vaguely.  
“Well what did he say?” You asked.  
“Fuck off.” Sherlock looked back to you.  
“Dear me. I thought he’d be more excited that you were back. After he got over all that pent up aggression. I mean, he probably hit you, what? Three times?” You asked.  
“Yes. Though you hit harder. That was two years ago and I can still feel it.” He rubbed his cheek with a smirk.  
“Well that’s your fault. Your cheekbones are practically glass. It probably hurt my hand more.” You argued. Typing away, answering emails, being the boss.  
“Ugh, I need a case.” Sherlock whinned.  
“You have a case! A very important, possibly imminent terrorist attack one!” You argued.  
“Yes, well in the time being I need another case. And another case while I’m waiting for that one.” He argued, making his way to sit in front of you.  
“Ok, I know what this is,” You placed your laptop on the ground and unfolded your legs, “You want a chance to show off. In front of people, real clients. You’ve missed this, you’ve been gone for two years. If a terror attack is just too boring for you, be my guest! Go out and find the embezzling botox husbands, the pen pal catfishing stepfathers, whatever you’ve really been craving for the last two years.”  
“Those were oddly specific.” He squinted suspiciously, “And if doing those things were to make me happy, you’d let me?”  
“As long as you don’t let this case fall between the cracks. It’s not that I love you less, but I love London more.” You smirked.  
“Hmm. I thought Shakespeare was supposed to be romantic.” Sherlock rolled his eyes.  
“Don’t worry. Lestrade will text you within the next minute with a case that has Scotland Yard baffled, I’m sure.” You stood, collecting your things, and patting his shoulder.  
As you bent and grabbed your laptop, Sherlock’s phone buzzed and you smirked.  
“How the hell did you know that?” Sherlock raised his phone to you, showing a text from Lestrade.  
“Oh please, they lost me, of course they’re going to need help. I’m sure you’ve been in contact with Lestrade since your return, he’s returned to smoking I believe, and I think he and the wife split again. He’s lonely and missed you bossing him around a crime scene, a case was bound to show up sooner or later.” You explained.  
“Yeah but how?” He asked, still in disbelief.  
“He texted me a minute ago asking about you,” You kissed his cheek, grabbing your bags with a smirk on your face.  
“I’ve missed this.” He said, as you were in the doorway.  
“Tell Molly I said hello.” You called as you descended the stairs.  
You had pieced it together for the most part. You knew Sherlock would have needed help from within Barts, especially for falsifying autopsy records and post-mortems, thus Molly. With a new case, Sherlock always needs an assistant, and John is currently out of the picture. To say thank you for her work two years ago, Sherlock would take Molly for a spin as his assistant for a case. Though your intelligence and contacts tells you that she is engaged, meaning if she still has that crush on Sherlock, she won’t be making this more than a one time thing.  
“This one’s got us all baffled.” Lestrade said, causing Sherlock to smirk remembering your words from shortly before. He ripped the police tape off the door.  
“Hmm, I don’t doubt it.” Sherlock replied.  
Molly followed Sherlock, who followed Lestrade down the narrow stairs to the basement crime scene where a skeleton sat behind a table, dressed in Victorian garb and covered in dust.  
Sherlock began examining the corpse. Deductions popping into his head. Pine? Spruce? Cedar. New mothballs. Carbon particulate. Fire Damage.  
“What is it?” Molly asked, attempting to take notes, as John did once. “You’re onto something, aren’t you?”  
“Maybe.” Sherlock answered, continuing to look around.  
“Show off.” Sherlock could hear John’s voice in his head.  
“Shut up, John.” He whispered back, pushing the thought to the side.  
“What?” Molly asked quiety, confused.  
“Hmm?” Sherlock asked, not realizing he had spoken out loud. “Nothing.”  
Sherlock bent down to examine the clothing on the skeleton, as Lestrade approached him from the side.  
“This going to be your new arrangement, is it?” Lestrade whispered.  
“Just giving it a go.” Sherlock replied.  
“Right. So, John?” Lestrade asked.  
“Not really in the picture any more.” He answered.  
“And Y/N?” Lestrade asked.  
“Quite busy now, as I’m sure you’ve heard.” Sherlock said rudely.  
“Right, well of course. I mean it came as a bit of a shock. Just a few months before I’d ran into her and she said she was working at the Natural History Museum or something.” Lestrade told him.  
“Where was that?” Sherlock asked curiously.  
“At a pub, she was with a friend. Bass. Something Bass, Charles maybe.” Lestrade said, trying to remember. Sherlock furrowed his eyebrows and made a mental note to ask you about him later.  
In the meantime, he returned to Molly’s side as the walls started to shake lightly.  
“Trains?” Molly asked.  
“Trains.” Sherlock nodded in confirmation. Molly moved to examine the corpse as well.  
“Male, 40 to 50… It doesn’t make sense.” She muttered.  
“What doesn’t?” Lestrade asked.  
“This skeleton, it can’t be any more than–” She began before Sherlock cut her off.  
“Six months old.” They spoke in unison.  
Sherlock popped open a secret door on the side of the desk, revealing a dust covered book. He plopped it onto the table, spreading dust into the air.  
“How I Did It by Jack the Ripper.” Lestrade read the cover, dumbfounded.  
“I won’t insult your intelligence by explaining it to you.” Sherlock said as he began to put away his tools.  
“No, please, insult away.” Lestrade answered, and Sherlock thought that maybe you could have been right. Maybe Lestrade did miss him bossing him around a crime scene.  
“The corpse is six months old, it’s dressed in a shoddy Victorian outfit from a museum. It’s been displayed on a dummy for many years, in a case facing southeast, judging from the fading of the fabric. Sold off in a fire damage sale a week ago.” He raised his phone with proof.  
“So the whole thing was a fake?” Lestrade asked, baffled.  
“Yes.” Sherlock answered plainly.  
“Looked so promising.” Lestrade said, disappointed.  
“Facile.” Sherlock returned, heading towards the door. Molly was trailing behind him.  
“Who would do something like that?” Molly asked once they were alone, walking together towards the exit.  
“Why indeed. Fancy some chips?” He asked her, putting on his scarf, preparing to brace the cold waiting outside.  
“What?” Molly asked confused.  
“I know a fantastic fish shop just off the Marylebone Road the owner always gives me extra portions.” Sherlock said, ascending the final staircase.  
“Did you get him off a murder charge?” Molly asked, rolling her eyes. She wasn’t stupid, she knew why she was here. John was still mad at him for faking his death and Y/N is too busy to follow him around a crime scene all day. She was always second best, well in this case third.  
“No, I helped him put up some shelves.” Sherlock said with a smirk.  
“Sherlock.” Molly spoke and he turned to face her. “What was today about?”  
“Saying thank you.” He told her.  
“For what?” She asked.  
“For everything you did for me.” He answered, and it was genuine. None of the work he did over the past two years would have been possible if not for her help in making him disappear. Faking a death is easy, faking an autopsy and medical records is much harder.  
“It was my pleasure.” She said, and he saw the sad almost angry look on her face.  
“But you can’t do this again, can you? Congratulations, by the way.” He nodded his head towards the engagement ring resting on her finger.  
“He’s not from work. We met through friends, old-fashioned way. He’s nice, he’s got a dog. We go to the pub on weekends and I’ve met his mum and dad and his friends and all his family and I have no idea why I’m telling you any of this.” She rambled and let out a nervous laugh.  
“I hope you’ll be very happy, Molly Hooper. You deserve it. After all, not all the men you fall for can turn out to be sociopaths.” He smiled and left a chaste kiss on her cheek.  
“Sherlock?” Molly called out to him in the doorframe of the building.  
“Hmm?” He turned around to face her once again.  
“Take care of Y/N, alright? I know she seems fine now but… you didn’t see her over those past two years. She changed, and I’m not sure it was for the better.” Molly told him honestly.  
“What do you mean?” He re-entered the building and closed the door.  
“I visited her in the hospital, after her miscarriage. I had seen her just before that and she was the best I’d seen her since you left. But that day in the hospital, she just… It was like all the hope and light within her was just put out. After that… she wasn’t Y/N anymore.” Molly’s voice wavered.  
“What do you mean she wasn’t Y/N anymore?” Sherlock asked, confused. His knowledge only extended to what he read in her letters, and even then he noticed the dark spiraling, he just hoped for the best.  
“Tom and I were out at a pub one night and we saw her. She was smashed, getting into a fight, broke some bloke’s nose just because he said your name. I doubt she even remembers, but we pulled her off of him, she didn’t even recognize me, but that was when we saw it. The needle marks on her arm. I called your brother, and I suppose he took care of it. After that I didn’t see her again until her name was in the paper last month. I didn’t even know she was alive.” Molly said sadly.  
“Why are you telling me this?” He asked, raising an eyebrow.  
“Because I know she’ll never bring herself to. She doesn’t want you to know how much pain you truly caused her, just because she’s so relieved to finally have you back. I’m not saying this to make you feel guilty, but you need to know. You need to be gentle with her, because she’s not the same woman you left two years ago.” Molly begged him.  
“I’m surprised, Molly. I thought you hated Y/N?” Sherlock furrowed his eyebrows.  
“I’ll admit that in the past she and I never really got on. I might have been slightly jealous of her, but I’m serious Sherlock. If you break her again, I’m not sure she can put herself back together next time.” Molly nodded seriously.  
“Well I’m not planning on going anywhere. Don’t worry, Molly, I couldn’t live with myself if I let her get hurt again.” He nodded goodbye and stepped out into the cold. His head spinning, guilt and anger flooding his system. If only Mycroft had told you, none of this would have happened.  
He pulled his phone out of his pocket and gave you a call.  
“Everything alright?” You spoke into the phone, he could sense the worry in your voice.  
“Yes.. why wouldn’t it be?” He asked confused.  
“Really? Mr. I-Prefer-To-Text.” You rolled your eyes, you weren’t even sure Sherlock’s ever called you. Maybe once or twice. He always texted or just showed up unannounced at your office or flat.  
“Well maybe I just wanted to hear your voice. Where are you?” He asked.  
“Home. Why? Have you got a lead?” You asked, excitedly.  
“Home as in Baker Street or Home as in your flat? And maybe.” He answered.  
“Baker Street.” You answered, realizing you’d begun to call it home again.  
“I’ll be there in twenty minutes, be ready to leave.” He instructed.  
“Yes sir, will do.” You replied.  
You placed your laptop on the ground and began searching for where you left your coat. You spotted it at Sherlock’s desk and turned to grab it. You heard the door open behind you and raised an eyebrow.  
“I thought you said twenty minutes?” You turned around expecting to see Sherlock, but instead were greeted by Anderson.  
“Pardon?” Phillip asked confused.  
“Thought you were someone else,” you shook your head, “What brings you here, Phillip?”  
“You said I already knew the answer.” Phillip said, referencing your prior conversation about what exactly your last occupation was.  
“And do you?” You asked.  
“In the pub your friend said you killed people for money. Everyone brushed it off as a joke, being followed by a lie that you were employed at the Natural History Museum. But it wasn’t a joke. You were an assassin?” He asked, not thinking you were capable of something like that.  
“We prefer spy, but a license to kill is a license to kill.” You shrugged.  
“So you worked for MI6?” He asked and you nodded.  
“I suppose this means you want the job?” You asked.  
“Actually, I’ve come to decline it. I don’t think it’s right for me… I’m not sure what is yet but I’m tired of secrets and lies and I’m afraid that’s all it would be.” Phillip said, his words surprising you.  
“I understand, thank you for telling me. Oh, and Phillip, you realize what I’ve confirmed for you is beyond confidential and if you were to tell anyone it would result in your untimely demise.” You smiled.  
“Your secret’s safe with me. Sorry he drove you to do that.” Phillip said.  
“Who?” You asked.  
“Sherlock. I’m sorry he hurt you bad enough to drive you to risk your life everyday like that, and to take lives as easily as making a cup of tea.” Philip answered, and seemed genuine.  
“It was my decision. And now it’s in the past.” You nodded.  
“Of course, well I’m sure you’re busy, I’ll leave you be. Goodbye Y/N.” Phillip nodded.  
“Bye.” You smiled, but it faded as he left. You sat back in Sherlock’s chair and waited for his arrival.


	62. Chapter 62

“This isn’t a lead, it’s an errand.” You whined once Sherlock had come home and told you where you were headed. You weren’t tracking down a terror cell, you were returning an ugly hat.  
“Oh hush, you never would have agreed to come unless I told you it was a lead.” He argued, but he was right.  
“You know I might have something more important to be doing.” You argued.  
“What could be more important than me?” Sherlock smirked as you rolled your eyes.  
“Well it’s good to know you haven’t changed.” You said as you approached the flat of the hat owner. He smiled down at you as he rang the doorbell.  
“Mind the gap.” The bell tolled, and you cracked a smile.  
The door swung open and Sherlock subsequently stuck out the hat.  
“Oh. Thanks for hanging onto it.” He said, taking it.  
“No problem.” The hat man then lead the two of you inside the flat. “So, what’s this all about, Mr. Shilcott?”  
You furrowed your eyebrows, so this was more than just an errand. God you loved being kept out of the loop. You stepped into a room full of trains and corresponding memorabilia.  
“My girlfriends a big fan of yours.” He said, sitting behind his computer.  
“Girlfriend?” Sherlock chuckled and turned to you hoping to share in his amusement. Instead he was met with a raised eyebrow and disapproving look. “Sorry, do go on.”  
“I like trains.” He stated.  
“Yes…” You both spoke, wasn’t it blatantly obvious, just taking a quick glance around the room could have told you that.  
“I work on the Tube, on the District Line and part of my job is to wipe the security footage after it’s been cleared. I was just whizzing through, and I found something a bit bizarre.” Howard Shilcott said, moving to his chair in front of the computer. He adjusted the screen so that we could see it better. “Now, this was a week ago. The last train on the Friday night, Westminster Station. Now this man gets into the last car.”  
“Car?” You asked. Didn’t everyone here call them carriages?  
“They’re cars, not carriages. It’s a legacy of the early American involvement in the Tube system.” He answered, seems like he had to tell a lot of people this.  
“Well naturally I’m all for it.” You smirked.  
“Didn’t you have to renounce your American citizenship?” Sherlock asked.  
“Not yet, but now that Trump’s President I’m tempted to.” You answered truthfully, the man behind the computer muttering ‘moron’ in response and shaking his head. You chuckled.  
“I’m sorry, Donald Trump is President? What happened to your bloody country?” Sherlock asked.  
“Oh honey, what happened to yours? Have you heard of a thing called Brexit?” You returned.  
“No…” Sherlock raised an eyebrow.  
“When we get home I’m going to have to brush you up on what’s happened in the last two years. Because you’ve obviously missed a lot.” You rolled your eyes, glancing back towards the computer screen.  
“Ok, here’s the next stop, St. James’s Park station.” Howard spoke. You watched as the empty car opened and closed its doors with no one getting off. You and Sherlock shared a look. “He gets into the last car at Westminster, the only passenger, and the car is empty at St. James’s Park station. Explain that, Mr. Holmes.”  
“Well he couldn’t have just jumped off. Isn’t there some kind of mechanism that stops the doors from opening mid-transit?” You asked.  
“Exactly. But there’s something else. The driver of that train hasn’t been to work since. According to his flatmate, he’s on holiday. Came into some money.” Shilcott said.  
“Bought off?” Sherlock muttered. You nodded, thinking it would make sense.  
“So if the driver of the train was in on it, then the passenger did get off.” You suggested.  
“There’s nowhere he could go. It’s a straight run on the District Line between the two stations. There’s no side tunnels, no maintenance tunnels. Nothing on any map. Nothing. The train never stops and a man vanishes. Good, innit?” He asked with a smile.  
“I know that face.” Sherlock muttered, his eyes were now closed, deep in thought.  
You leaned in closer to see him but stopped abruptly, an expletive rolling from your tongue.  
“It’s him, Sherlock. It’s Sebastian Moran.” You whispered. How did this actually turn out to be a lead? He was Sherlock’s rat number one.  
You had to get back to Baker Street, surely there’s another connection here. You followed Sherlock out into the hallway. He was silent, obviously still deep in thought.  
“The journey between those stations usually takes five minutes. That journey took 10 minutes. Ten minutes to get from Westminster to St. James’s Park. I’m going to need maps, lots of maps. Older maps, all the maps.” Sherlock finally spoke when you were descending the stairs.  
“That can be arranged.” You spoke, pulling out your phone and texting your current lackey. He was basically like an intern you could boss around, though the MI5 equivalent.  
Sherlock opened the door and you could feel the bitter cold rush in. He held it for you as you walked before him.  
“I know what you’re doing, you know. Bringing me out on your cases, trying to make me forgive you.” You spoke, seemingly out of nowhere.  
“Is it working?” He asked hopefully.  
“A little.” You smiled.  
“You know I’m sorry right? I knew that Moriarty would have slaughtered everyone I’ve ever cared about. He would have continued to kill innocent people… for fun. And that was a sacrifice I was prepared to make, but when I had to let you go, when I saw you grieving, I just… it broke me.” Sherlock said, sorrowfully. You suddenly felt guilty.  
“I’m sure it wasn’t easy for you over the last two years either. The world has changed.” You acknowledged.  
“I know, you leave for two years and suddenly you leave the EU and Donald Trump is a president, what else have I missed?” He asked with a smirk.  
“Oh, probably some other nationalist uprising.” You laughed, he put his arm around you to help block out some of the cold. “But I’ll be okay, we’ll be okay. It’s john I worry about. I tried to stay in touch with everyone else, but it just hit him really hard. He moved out, went back to his therapist. Which I’m assuming helped because I heard he met someone.”  
“Oh, yes, Mary Morstan, I met her. She seems good for him.” Sherlock nodded.  
“Mary Morstan, where do I know that name from?” You muttered, furrowing your brow in thought.  
“She’s a nurse I think, they work at the hospital together.” Sherlock explained, your eyes went wide, realizing who she was.  
“What?” Sherlock asked, he’d seen your face.  
“Nothing. Jesus it’s cold.” you nuzzled into his side more, changing the subject, “Though I suppose it could be worse, have you ever been in Moscow in the winter. I swear it was like negative 30 degrees.”  
“Why were you in Moscow?” Sherlock glanced down to you and asked.  
“I was on assignment there last winter.” You explained.  
“Mm. MI6? That’s sort of shocking by the way. I leave and you become an assassin. Who would have guessed.” He smirked.  
“It was just a right fit I suppose. After you left I quit Scotland Yard, then after the baby I sort of fell off the rails. Mycroft straightened me out and there happened to be an opening. And I wasn’t an assassin. I mean, yes, I did things I’m not proud of, but that wasn’t all it was. I was gathering intel, fighting terrorism, and I suppose dismantling Moriarty’s network at the end there.” You spoke, reflecting on your last two years.  
“Oh you did more than that.” Sherlock said, cryptically.  
“How so?” You asked, raising an eyebrow.  
“Le Chiffre, he was Moriarty’s sponsor. Once you took him out of the game, you cut off the money supply. It made dismantling his network so much easier. Mycroft was the one that sent the case to MI6 for him to be taken out. I knew some agents had taken care of him, I just didn’t know it was you.” Sherlock explained to you.  
“That was my first real case. As a double-0, anyway. That seems like ages ago now.” You smiled. Glancing up at the building in front of you, you realized you were already back at Baker Street.  
You entered the building and ascended the stairs up to the familiar sitting room. Standing in front of the couch and Sherlock’s ‘A Beautiful Mind’ inspired display.  
“What’s he doing down there?” You asked yourself.  
You heard a frantic knock on the door but ignored it, figuring Mrs. Hudson would get it.  
“Oh, Mrs. Hudson. Sorry, I think someone’s got John.” A woman’s voice came from downstairs. You turned back to Sherlock who was standing up from his seat with his brows furrowed.  
“Hand on, who are you?” You heard Mrs. Hudson frantically ask, rushing after the woman already halfway up the stairs.  
“Oh, I’m his fiance.” She said, before journeying the rest of the way up the stairs.  
“Mary? What’s wrong?” Sherlock asked, moving past you.  
“Someone send me this. At first I thought it was just a Bible thing, you know, spam, but it’s not. It’s a skip code.” Mary said, pulling out her phone to show Sherlock.  
“First word, then every third. ‘Save John Watson.’” Sherlock read, his eyes widening in shock. “Saint James the Less, it’s a church.” He looked up to you.  
“Go, go!” You urged him and you stayed behind. They rushed out the door and you prayed they made it in time to save their friend.


	63. Chapter 63

The next morning you woke up to a quiet flat. Something that didn’t usually happen with your three year old nephew living here.  
You decided to pop over to the store on your way to Baker Street. You knew Sherlock was out of milk and biscuits so you decided to grab some for him. Since you didn’t hear from him last night you assumed that he saved John and would fill you in today.  
You opened the door to Baker Street, bags in hand and ascended the stairs.  
“Sherlock,” you called, entering through the kitchen door, “I brought some milk and biscuits, noticed you were out.”  
You popped the milk in the fridge, ignoring the specimens, before walking into the living room.  
“I assume John’s-” You stopped when you saw Sherlock standing on the couch between an older couple, “Oh, I’m sorry I didn’t know you had clients.”  
“Is this her, Sherlock.” The woman asked him, that was when you realised they weren’t clients. They were his parents.  
“Y/N.” Sherlock said, ignoring his mother’s question.  
“So sorry to disturb you. Y/N Gregson.” You shook both of their hands. His mother was beaming.  
“They were just leaving.” Sherlock said, pushing them off the couch.  
“Oh, were we?” His mother asked.  
“Yes.” Sherlock answered, attempting to push them out the door.  
“Yeah, well, we’re here till Saturday remember. Give us a ring.” His mother said through the door.  
“Very nice, yes, good. Get out.” Sherlock said, attempting to shut the door, his mother’s foot getting in his way.  
“I can’t tell you how glad we are, Sherlock. All that time, people thinking the worst of you. We’re just so pleased it’s all over.” His mother whispered. You had gone into the kitchen to give them some privacy, you’d forgotten the door was open. “Dear, would you mind walking us out?”  
“I’d be my pleasure, Mrs. Holmes.” You smiled, but on the inside you were terrified. Were you about to get vetted by Sherlock’s parents?  
Sherlock’s eyes went wide when he realised his mother wasn’t talking to him. He finally managed to get the door closed and returned to his wall. He heard laughter downstairs and furrowed his eyebrows.  
You returned a moment later with a small smile on your face.  
“What?” Sherlock asked.  
“Your mother asked if you were my significant other.” You said with a smirk.  
“What did you say?” He asked, raising an eyebrow.  
“I said you were my significant annoyance.” You maintained your smirk. He let out a short laugh.  
“Not exactly how I imagined meeting your parents. Actually I don’t think I ever imagined meeting them at all.” You said, sitting in his chair.  
“They’re only in town for a few days. Mycroft promised to take them to a matinee of Les Mis. Tried to talk me into doing it.” Sherlock rolled his eyes.  
“They’re not what I imagined. They’re just so…” You began, shaking your head.  
“So what?” Sherlock asked.  
“Ordinary.” You smiled.  
“Hmm. It’s a cross I have to bear.” Sherlock signed, causing you to laugh.  
Sherlock continued to fill you in on the events from the night before. John had been kidnapped and stuck in a bonfire for Guy Fawkes. Luckily Sherlock and Mary made it in time.  
“I don’t get it. Why did they target John?” You asked.  
“Someone trying to get to me, possibly.” Sherlock answered, sitting in the chair across from you.  
“Yeah, but if they were trying to get to you, why not use me?” You asked, crossing your legs.  
“Maybe with your new position it would draw too much attention to it, you’re untouchable.” He suggested, standing to make some tea.  
“No one’s untouchable.” You muttered, “Then why send the skip code to Mary and not you? You and John haven’t spoken in two years, he’s still pissed at you… What if this was to get to Mary?”  
“Why her though?” He asked, looking back at you while opening the biscuits you brought.   
“I don’t know.” You answered, pulling your phone from your pocket and beginning to type.   
“You’re not going to see if you have a file on her are you?” Sherlock asked, raising an eyebrow.  
“Uhh, no.” You lied. But a search for “Mary Morstan” brought up nothing. You groaned and slipped your phone back into your pocket.  
“Could it have anything to do with the case? Maybe they know you’re helping and they wanted to distract you.” You suggested, taking the cup of tea Sherlock handed you.  
“I don’t know, I can’t see the pattern. It’s too nebulous. Why would an agent give his life to tell us something incredibly insignificant. That’s what’s strange.” Sherlock said.  
“There’s an underground network planning an attack on London, that’s all we know.” You answered.  
“There’s something, something, something I’m missing. Something staring me in the face.” He said, before pulling his phone from his pocket, “Our rat’s just come out of his den.”  
“How do you know that? I’ve got people watching him and I haven’t heard anything yet.” You whined. You rolled your eyes in realization, “Is your Homeless Network for fire?”  
“Yes, yes, yes. I’ve been an idiot, a blind idiot!” Sherlock suddenly yelled.  
“What?” You asked.  
“Oh, that’s good. That could be brilliant! Mycroft’s intelligence is not nebulous at all. It’s specific, incredibly specific.” Sherlock rambled.  
“An underground network… is actually an underground network?” You asked.  
“Sometimes a deception is so audacious, so outrageous that you can’t see it even when it’s staring you in the face.” Sherlock begins to play the CCTV train feed for you again, “Look, seven carriages leave Westminster and only six carriages arrive at St. James’s Park.”  
“Moran didn’t disappear. The entire Tube compartment did. The driver must have diverted the train and then detached the last car. But where? I thought there was nothing between those stations.” You said, looking up to Sherlock.  
“Not on the maps, but once you eliminate all the other factors, the only thing remaining must be the truth. That carriage vanished, so it must be somewhere.” Sherlock pointed once more to the screen.  
“But why though? Why detach it in the first place?” You ask.  
“It vanished between St. James’s Park and Westminster. Sebastian Moran vanishes. John’s kidnapped and nearly burnt to death at a fireworks party…” Sherlock stops abruptly before turning to you. “What’s the date, Y/N, today’s date?”  
“Hmm? November… Oh God!” You said, in realization.  
“Lord Moran, he’s Peer of the Realm. Normally he’d sit in the House. Tonight there’s an all-night sitting to vote on the new anti-terrorism bill. But he won’t be there, not tonight. Not the 5th of November.” Sherlock turned to you with a smirk. Was this all just a game to him?  
“Remember, remember the 5th of November. The gunpowder, treason, and plot.” You muttered.  
Sherlock pushed you out of the seat so he could sit in front of the computer. He facetimed Howard Shilcott, the train fanatic.  
“There’s nothing down there Mr. Holmes, I told you. No sidings, no ghost stations.” Howard said.  
“There has to be. Check again.” Sherlock ordered, as you began laying maps on the cleared kitchen table.   
“This whole area is a big mess of old and new stuff. Charing Cross is made up of bits of older stations, like Trafalgar Square, Strand.” You explained.  
“It’s none of those, we’ve accounted for those,” Sherlock said, leaning over your shoulder. His breath was hot on the side of your face. “St. Margaret Street, Bridge Street, Sumatra Road, Parliament Street-”  
“Hang on, hang on, Sumatra Road. There is something, I knew it rang a bell!” Howard yelled, reaching for something. “Yes, there was a station down there. It was closed before it ever opened. They built the platforms, even the staircases, but it all got tied up in legal disputes so they never built the station on the surface.”  
“It’s right underneath the Palace of Westminster.” Sherlock muttered.  
“So what’s down there, a bomb?” You asked, just as you said it the severity of the situation struck you. There was actually a bomb down there. Sherlock sprinted towards the door, you were hot on his tail.  
You followed Sherlock down the street and down the stairs to the Westminster Station.  
“So the Tube car is carrying a bomb.” You whispered.  
“Must be.” Sherlock said. You pulled out your phone to call for backup, or at the very least the police. “What are you doing?”  
“I’m calling for backup.” You said, wondering why Sherlock was flipping out.  
“What? No!” He argued.  
“Sherlock, this isn’t a game we need to evacuate Parliament.” You retorted.  
“They’ll get in the way, they always do. This is cleaner, more efficient.” He stopped, pulling a crowbar from his coat and prying open a metal gate.  
“And illegal.” You reminded him.  
“A bit.” He looked back to you and winked, all you could do was roll your eyes.  
You followed Sherlock down the dark, winding staircases. What a wonderful day to wear heels.  
You hoped Sherlock knew where he was going because you had no idea. You never rode the Tube. All you had was the light coming from your flashlight to lead the way. You came out into a ledge looking down onto the rails.  
“I don’t understand.” Sherlock said quietly.  
“Well that’s a first.” You retorted.  
“There’s nowhere else it could be.” He closed his eyes to think for a moment before coming to his senses. He jumped down onto the tracks, expecting you to follow.  
“Hang on. Sherlock?” You asked.  
“What?” He turned back to you.  
“That’s… Isn’t it live?” You asked, pointing to the rails.  
“Perfectly safe as long as we avoid touching the rails.” He answered.  
“Of course, yeah, avoid the rails. One more problem.” You said, and he turned back to you with a brow raised. “Heels. I’m gonna need a hand getting down there.”  
Sherlock grabbed your outstretched hand placed his other hand around your waist. He lifted you as if you were weightless and placed you down in front of him.  
You two hadn’t been this close in a while. You looked up to Sherlock, who seemed to be thinking the same thing. The tension between you two had been growing, and you knew it would catch up with you. His hand had drifted down to the small of your back, and yours rested on his chest.  
“Sherlock.” You let out a breathy whisper.  
“I know… but we’ve got to go.” He said, spinning you and beginning to walk in his intended direction.  
You walked for a couple hundred feet around the corner when you saw the tail end of the missing car.  
“Well would you look at that.” You said, shining your flashlight down on it.  
“Y/N.” Sherlock stopped you, grabbing your hand. You followed his gaze straight up as the tunnel diverted skyward. He shined his light onto C-4 blocks wired and taped to the outer walls. This whole thing was rigged to blow.  
“Demolition charges.” He explained. You signed and both continued forward towards the car.  
Sherlock opened the door and helped you step up into the car. After a quick look around, you were flabbergasted. To your surprise, the darkened car was empty. It looked like a regular ‘ol Tube car. No bomb sitting around.  
“It’s empty.” You muttered, confused. You turned to Sherlock who was ripping the cushion of a seat.  
“This is the bomb.” Sherlock said, looking back at you. Your eyes widened to see the blocks of C-4 strapped to the exposed seat.  
“It’s not carrying explosives, the whole compartment is the bomb.” Sherlock’s voice began to waiver. He started ripping more and more cushions off the seats.  
“Jesus Christ.” You muttered under your breath as you turned to see Sherlock crouched on the floor, exposing a loose floorboard that housed what looked like epicenter of the bomb.  
“We need bomb disposal.” You said, your voice shaking.  
“There may not be time for that.” Sherlock said.  
“So what do we do?” You asked, looking up to Sherlock.  
“I have no idea.” He said, you could see a flash of fear in his eyes.  
“Well, think of something.” You ordered him.  
“Why do you think I know what to do?” He retorted.  
“Because you’re Sherlock Holmes, you’re as clever as it gets.” You argued, standing across from him, the bomb in between the two of you.  
“It doesn’t mean I know how to diffuse a giant bomb. What about you?” He flashed his light up on you.  
“I wasn’t in bomb disposal!” You were yelling now.  
“You must have had some kind of bomb training you were a Double-0 for christ sake!” Sherlock yelled back.  
“That was red wire, blue wire stuff! Nothing like this!” You shined your light down onto the bomb the size of your kitchen island. You glanced at the unchanging timer that read 2:30.  
Suddenly the compartment came to life. The lights all flashed on and the timer began to countdown.  
“Oh my god.” You muttered, as you saw Sherlock panicking too.


	64. Chapter 64

“Why didn’t you call the police? Why do you never call the police!” You yelled.  
“Well, it’s no use now.” He argued.  
“So you can’t switch the bomb off and you didn’t call the police.” You turned around in a rage, the timer now read 2:00.  
“Go, Y/N. Go now.” Sherlock pointed towards the open door to the carriage.  
“There’s no point now, is there, because there’s not enough time to get away and if we don’t do this, other people will die!” You yelled at him.  
Sherlock pulled off his scarf and knelt next to the bomb, looking for some kind of solution. You turned back to him and he looked up at you with tears in his eyes.  
“I’m sorry.” Sherlock muttered. “I can’t… I can’t do it Y/N. I don’t know how. Forgive me.”  
“What?” You asked, tears now forming in your own eyes.  
“Please Y/N, forgive me for all the hurt that I’ve caused you.” He said, his hands folded in repentance.  
“No, no, no this is a trick.” You tried to convince yourself.  
“No.” Sherlock said, still on his knees.  
“You’re just trying to make me say something nice.” You said, a tear escaping and flooding down your cheek. 1:30.  
“Not this time.” Sherlock said quietly, slowly rising to his feet.  
You let out a shaky breath while turning your back to him once more. What do you say at a time like this? Why do you always get yourself in these situations? You turned back to Sherlock and grabbed onto the bright green metal pole.  
“I wanted you not to be dead.” You told him, looking down at your feet.  
“Yeah, well, be careful what you wish for. If I hadn’t come back, you wouldn’t be standing there and… Your world would be easier if I didn’t come back.” Sherlock cried, looking up to you.  
“That’s true, but it wouldn’t be my world without you in it.” You answered honestly. “You are the best and worst thing that’s ever happened to me. You are the best and wisest man I’ve ever known. Yes, of course I forgive you. I’ll always forgive you, no matter how stupid it may make me look. You know why? Because you make me the best version of myself. Without you I don’t know who I am, I don’t know who to be. I am the way I am because of you, for you, and with you. I am yours, eternally.”  
You made eye contact with Sherlock for what you thought was the last time. You closed your eyes, taking in one last breath, preparing yourself for what was to come. You’d heard that in moments of crisis a minute felt like an hour. It felt like five minutes had gone by.  
You heard snickering in front of you and opened your eyes. 1:28. 1:29. 1:28. Flashing back and forth.  
“What the fuck?” You looked up to Sherlock who was now full on laughing.  
“You-!” You began to yell.  
“Oh, your face!” Sherlock laughed, wiping away fake tears.  
“You utter…” You paced angrily.  
“I totally had you.” Sherlock chuckled.  
“You cock! I knew it! I-” You were seething but deep down you were relieved.  
“Oh you said such sweet things, I never knew you cared.” Sherlock joked.  
“I will kill you if you ever breathe a word of this to anyone! You knew!” You yelled, slapping his chest. “You knew how to turn it off!”  
“There’s an off switch. There’s always an off switch. Terrorists can get into all sorts of problems unless there’s an off switch.” He told you.  
“So why did you let me go through all that?” You asked.  
“I didn’t lie altogether. I have no absolutely idea how to turn any of these silly little lights off.” Sherlock laughed, and it was a beautiful sound.  
“Oh shut up, and come here.” You rolled your eyes, slipping your hand around the back of his neck and pulling his lips to yours.  
“I love you.” Sherlock whispered, pulling away.  
“I know.” You smiled. Furrowing your brows, you saw distant lights rounding the corner towards the car.  
“You did call the police?” You asked.  
“Of course I called the police.” He answered.  
“I’m definitely going to kill you.” You nodded.  
“Oh, please. Killing me, that’s so two years ago.” Sherlock smirked, looking up to you with his piercing eyes. You shook your head and chuckled.  
–  
The next morning you woke up at Baker Street with Sherlock’s arm nestled securely around your bare waist. You turned to face him, leaving gentle kisses along his neck and jaw. His eyes fluttered open. You loved this side of Sherlock, the side that only you got to see. He looked at you like it was the first time ever seeing you. It gave you butterflies every time, even after all this time.   
It was nearly noon, you two never sleep this late. Though you were up late most of the night doing unspeakable things.  
“Good morning.” Sherlock muttered with his deep baritone voice.  
“Good morning.” You whispered back, his lips captured yours as he rolled on top of you. Your hands naturally gravitated to his back, leaving red scratches down them, causing him to release a moan.  
Suddenly Sherlock’s phone rang and you groaned.  
“Tell whoever it is to fuck off.” You giggled. Sherlock chuckled and reached across you to grab it. Mycroft Holmes shone across the top of the screen, you rolled your eyes.  
“Sherlock, please, I beg of you.” You could hear Mycroft through the phone, loud voices ringing out in the background ‘Can you hear the people sing!’  
“You can take over at the interval.” Mycroft tried to bargain, you grabbed the phone from Sherlock.  
“Mycroft, Sherlock is very busy at the moment.” You argued.  
“What could he possibly be doing?” Mycroft asked, knowing his brothers schedule.  
“Me. Goodbye Mycroft.” You hung up, tossing the phone back onto the nightstand.   
Sherlock laughed before capturing your lips once more.  
“That’ll really set him off.” Sherlock said, between kisses.  
“Well that’s just too bad. We’ve got two years to make up for, it’s not my fault he’s not getting any.” You muttered, as Sherlock laughed as his hand traveled between your thighs.  
“I love you.” He said once more, peppering you with kisses.  
“I love you too.” You attempted to say, the ending just came out as a moan as Sherlock began to play you like a violin.  
–  
“Oh, I’m really pleased, Mary. Have you set a date?” Mrs. Hudson asked as she sat across from you, sipping champagne.  
“Well, we thought May.” Mary smiled. Sherlock plopped down next to you, handing you a flute of champagne.  
You had returned to your usual spot on the arm of his chair. Lestrade sat in John’s old chair opposite.  
“Ah, a spring wedding.” Mrs. Hudson nodded in approval.  
“Well once we’ve actually got engaged.” Mary laughed.  
“Yeah.” John muttered, returning from the kitchen and sitting down on the couch next to Mary.  
“We were interrupted last time.” Mary sent a playful death glare to Sherlock.  
“Well, I can’t wait.” Lestrade said, raising his glass.  
“You will be there, Sherlock?” Mary asked Sherlock, with a raised brow.  
“Weddings, not really my thing.” Sherlock smirked, wrapping an arm around your waist.  
The door opened as Molly and her fiance entered.  
“Hello everyone! This is Tom. Tom, this is everyone.” Molly introduced everyone with a smile. Tom was, well, strikingly like an off-brand Sherlock. He even dressed the same.  
“Hi! It’s really nice to meet you all.” Tom nodded with a smile.   
“You think it’s about time?” Sherlock asked you, referring to the reporters waiting outside.  
“We’ve kept them waiting long enough.” You answered, standing and making your way towards the door with Sherlock in toe.  
Once clear of everyone, you began to laugh lightly.  
“Did you-” You began to ask Sherlock.  
“I’m not saying a word.” Sherlock smiled.  
“No, best not.” You said, slipping on your coat. “Christ I think he was wearing the same shoes as you.”  
“Oh, stop it.” Sherlock laughed. “Now I don’t know how I feel about this shirt.”  
“I love that shirt.” You answered, laying a hand across the deep purple fabric.  
“Really?” Sherlock asked, looking down to you.  
“Oh, yeah. Though I think it looks better on me.” You smirked.  
“You only wear it after… ah.” Sherlock nodded in realization. He descended the stairs behind you.  
“One question still remains. Why put John in the bonfire? If they knew we were onto them, why come after him?” You asked.  
“I don’t know. I don’t like not knowing.” Sherlock said, reaching the door and slipping on his coat. “I don’t know who was behind all this, but I will find out, I promise you.”  
“Don’t pretend you’re not enjoying this.” You gave him a knowing look. “Being back. Being a hero again.”  
“Oh, don’t be stupid.” He said, keeping his back to you.  
“You’d have to be an idiot not to see it. You love it.” You said, he finally turned to face you.  
“Love what?” He raised a brow in response.  
“Being Sherlock Holmes.” You smirked.  
“I don’t even know what that’s supposed to mean.” He smirked and turned towards the door, stopping on the threshold. His arm reached out and grabbed a hat off its hook. He slipped on the deerstalker and pulled the large door open.  
Stepping out in front of the cameras and reporters it was time to put on your own hat of sorts. You were to play your role, standing beside the man that you love: Sherlock Holmes.


	65. Chapter 65

Reporters always exhausted you. After the herd began to thin out, you and Sherlock returned within the warm confines of 221 Baker Street. While following Sherlock up the stairs, your phone decided to ring.  
Kitty Riley. Your caller ID read.  
Sherlock looked back at you with a raised brow.  
“Go on up, I’ll meet you in a few minutes.” You nodded to him as you took the call.  
“Kitty.” You answered, returning to the base of the stairs.  
“Y/N. I was wondering if you’d give a comment on the attempted terrorist attack and arrest of Lord Moran.” Kitty asked.  
You nodded, spewing some generic answer about intel, incarceration, and the police force.  
“Is that all you called for Kitty?” You asked, pacing slightly around the foyer.  
“Well, actually there is something else. One of my colleagues is working on a piece on you. Apparently the owner of the paper gave them some dirt on you, something between you and your cousin or uncle or something. I’m not sure, but I thought you’d like to know. Incase someone contacts you.” Kitty explained, causing you to stop dead in your tracts. Ryan. Even after a year he decides to rear his dead ugly head.  
“Thank you for letting me know, Kitty. Keep an eye out, but don’t get involved. I’ll take care of it.” You said, reassuring yourself that this could be handled.  
On your way up the stairs you decided to run a quick search on who owned her paper.  
Charles Augustus Magnussen.  
On second thought, you decided to pay him a visit, researching his head office, you slipped outside and called a cab.  
Once in front of the large, glass building, all it took was a couple of flashes of your government issued ID to get you in.  
You now stood in front of the desk of Magnussen’s assistant.  
“Hello, I’m-” You began, but were cut off.  
“Oh, I know who you are Ms. Gregson. He’s been expecting you.” She smiled cheerfully. “I’m a big fan by the way, of you and Mr. Holmes. Are you two together?”  
“Oh, um, hah,” you laughed awkwardly, but were confused as hell, “How’s he expecting me?”  
Before she could answer, the door behind her opened, revealing the man, the devil himself.  
“Thank you Janine. Ms. Gregson right this way, please have a seat.” He ushered you into his office with a smile.  
You sat down across from him with slight apprehension. He knew you were coming. How could he know, it was a spur of the moment decision. You felt your phone buzz in your pocket. Most likely it was Sherlock wondering where you’d run off to.  
“Two days ago Donald Trump fired the Director of the FBI. So, for the time being, the Assistant Director would take over, no? And up until a year ago, that man would have been your uncle. Except he mysteriously disappeared.” Magnussen said, folding his hands and leaning closer to you from behind his large desk.  
“Actually I heard he defected to Russia and was killed there, but you know how rumors are. Your paper thrives on them as if they were facts.” You retorted.  
“You and your uncle didn’t get on well, did you?” He asked with a smirk.  
“We can’t choose our family, though I’m not sure what you’re implying.” You shrugged, keeping a cool calm air about you.  
“Actually, your uncle’s disappearance lines up perfectly with when you started working for MI6, is that correct.” He leaned closer still. How could he know you worked for MI6? That was confidential information.  
“Circumstantial. What’s your point?” You asked, if this was a fight for dominance you were to show no weaknesses. You straighten your back and leaned forward.  
“Revenge is a dangerous thing, Madame Director-General. It drives us to do things we might regret. Things that might tarnish our reputations.” He spoke, there was no question and therefore warranted no response.  
“Did you kill your uncle?” He asked- point blank.  
“And why would I do that?” You crossed your legs, swinging your foot slightly. You had to seem relaxed.  
“Probably because of the years of abuse and violation.” He now sat back in his chair. That was the kicker. You hoped your face gave nothing away, because your mind was reeling.  
“And who’s your source on that one?” You asked. Play it cool, Y/N. You warned yourself.  
“I’m afraid I can’t tell you that, journalistic integrity and all.” He answered, causing you to laugh. You would have never used the word integrity to describe any of this man’s actions.  
“You know at some point you’re going to need a shred of proof, instead of wasting my time with these accusations.” You leaned back casually in your chair.  
“What if I told you I had proof? MI6 files?” He raised a brow.  
“Then I would tell you that those are extremely confidential, a clearance level that even you couldn’t buy.” You warned him.  
“What if I had it right here?” he pulled a folded piece of paper from his inner coat pocket. “You have a lot of red in your ledger, Madame Director-General. If the public knew about the things you’ve done.” He made a tisk-tisk sound with his tongue.  
“Then they’d understand that it was all to protect them, legally with a license to kill, everything I’ve done has been in service to this country and it’s national security.” You spoke, your voice unwavering.  
“What about the ones done in service to yourself, what would uncle Ryan say? Speaking of that license, wasn’t it only obtained after you killed your uncle, making it, not so legal and possibly punishable. It could be considered treason, you could have your citizenship revoked, could you not? Imagine never seeing that cute little family of yours again. Imagine what the young Mr. Holmes would do without you?” Your eyes widened, realizing he was right.  
“You can’t print this story Mr. Magnussen.” You begged, uncrossing your legs and leaning forward in your chair.  
“What would you do for this to stay quiet?” He asked.  
“Anything.” You answered honestly.  
“Good, I’ll be in touch.” He nodded, standing from his seat.  
“That’s it? You blackmail me, for what? A favor down the road when it’s convenient to you?” You snarled.  
“Yes, because it’s more than a ledger Ms. Gregson, it’s everything you’ve ever done. I’ve got it, every dark thought you’ve ever had, I know it. And when the time comes and I need your assistance, you will grant it. Now don’t worry, I’m not asking you to betray your country or divulge top secret information. I just need to know that you’ll be on my side when I need you to be. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have another meeting. But feel free to drop in anytime you’d like, I’ll have Janine add you to the list.” He motioned towards the door, and the plump secretary on the other side.  
“You’re despicable.” You growled.  
“Good day to you too, Y/N.” He smiled, opening the door for you. You strutted out, not turning back.  
What had you just done? Had you sold your soul? When it came to Magnussen, selling your soul was the least of your problems.


	66. Chapter 66

“Ms. Gregson what do we do?” Your assistant yelled from across the room, you struggled to hear him over the alarms blaring around your office.  
“Get our missile defense equipment up and running now! I don’t care how many times they threaten, we will be prepared, we can’t risk calling their bluff. Get me MI6 on the phone now!” You directed, standing from your chair and rushing across your office.  
“Yes ma’am.” Your lackey spoke, following quickly behind you. He handed you a phone as you continued to strut through your chaotic office, flashing red lights accompanying those alarms.  
“Director-General?” A familiar voice came through the phone.  
“M? Tell me your men have eyes on this.” You spoke.  
“Of course we do. Still unsure of the severity of their threat.” M, your old boss at MI6 spoke.  
“If they so much as even breathe near that button you let me know. Sea Viper and Fylingdales are prepped to intercept if necessary, working on getting our other two up and running.” You informed him.  
“Since when have terror cells gotten their hands on nuclear weapons?” Mallory asked you.  
“They’ve got to have a backer, a rogue government of some sort. We can sort that out later, right now my focus is making sure we’re ready to intercept their missiles.” You returned, you had made it to your intended room, taking a seat at the head of the table.  
“Eye’s up Gregson, they’re not bluffing.” M said urgently, after a brief pause. His voice filled the room on speaker phone.  
Screens surrounded you as you now looked at the feed Mallory was getting from his agents’ hidden cameras.  
“If he gets one inch closer to that trigger, your agent needs to take him out.” You advised.  
“If he exposed himself he’d be facing almost certain death.” M pointed out.  
“If he doesn’t and that missile gets launched we’re looking at possibly the greatest attack ever witnessed on England’s largest metropolitan area!” You yelled back.  
“Would you think my agent that expendable if you knew it was Bass?” M said.  
“It’s Bass?” You yelled, “Well bloody hell Mallory tell him to take the shot! He’s a professional he’ll get himself out of this.”  
“Why don’t you tell him yourself, love.” Bass’ audio came through and you could now hear his voice.  
“You know what you have to do Charles. If he gets his hand on that button I don’t think Q could authorize an override in that short amount of time. We’ve done this before, you know what you have to do.”  
“If I make it out alive can I take you out to dinner?” He asked, though you couldn’t see it you knew he was wearing a cheeky grin.  
“When you make it out alive, Bass. When, not if.” You smiled, praying you were making the right call.  
You surveyed the room around him with your enhanced technology. You saw both the radar, his video feed, and the hacked security cameras from the surrounding rooms.  
“Once you take the shot, you’ve got two coming at you on your 6, and one on your 8.” You informed him, anticipating their next move.  
“Ms. Gregson you’re getting a text.” Your lackey spoke.  
“You really think this is the time for that?” You snapped at him, returning your eyes to the screen.  
“Hope you’re right about this love.” Charles said, standing and taking the spot, eliminating the threat. As you’d suspected, two men came at him behind, but he was prepared.  
“Ms. Gregson it’s Sherlock, it’s an emergency, he keeps texting.” Your assistant said, sliding your phone to you across the table.  
HELP.  
BAKER ST.  
NOW.  
HELP ME.  
PLEASE.  
Your eyes went wide as you read the texts, Sherlock never did this, it had to be an emergency. You looked up to the screen, Bass was fighting off another armed guard. But you had to go.  
“I have to go.” You stood, shoving your chair back behind you.  
“Bass, on your right two more incoming. Mallory take over, I have to go.” You yelled to M, insuring Bass would still have someone watching his tail.  
You ran from the room, grabbing your coat and bag from your office. The sirens were starting to die down and the lights stopped flashing. The missile threat is over, but now it seemed you had another crisis on your hands.  
“Backup, I need maximum backup!” You yelled into your phone, “Baker Street, now!”  
You were running down the stairwell, grabbing the keys off the wall to a car from the garage. You didn’t need a driver right know who would drive delicately and obey traffic laws.  
“You’ll do.” You smirked, hopping behind the wheel of a sleek black Aston Martin.  
You zoomed out of the garage and to Baker Street as fast as you could. Were some traffic laws broken? Yes. Were you going to get pulled over? No. God bless government plates.  
You parked in front of 221 and sprinted up the stairs, you could hear someone running behind you but didn’t have time to turn around and look. You gun was out and ready, you knew you had backup in the surrounding buildings and a man on the roof.  
“What’s going on?” You yelled, jumping into the room. Sherlock was sitting at his desk, his head in his hands, staring down at his computer screen.  
“This is hard.” He spoke cryptically.  
“What?” You asked, you turned to see the panicked figure of Lestrade jumping into the room behind you.  
“Really hard. Hardest thing I’ve ever had to do.” Sherlock spoke again, you looked to Lestrade, both of you anxious.  
Sherlock suddenly raised a book in the air titled ‘How to Write an Unforgettable Best Man Speech’.  
“Do you know any funny stories about John?” He asked casually.  
“Are you fucking kidding me Sherlock?” You yelled, and you could tell Lestrade was just as angry.  
“What?” He yelled, you could now see sirens outside and heard a police helicopter getting ever closer to the window.  
“I need anecdotes.” Sherlock looked up to us, he now begins to notice the sirens, “Didn’t go to any trouble, did you?”  
The curtains now began to blow into the room from the helicopter, creating a strong breeze. Sherlock looks up to the two of you with wide eyes, now realising the trouble you two had gone to.  
“Stand down.” You spoke into your phone, calling off your snipers, “I was in the middle of nearly intercepting a missile headed straight for London!”  
“Oops?” Sherlock raised an eyebrow, an innocent look on his face. He could tell you were still angry.  
You shook your head, not saying another word and exiting the room. You walked down the steps to the foyer by the front door to call and check in on Bass.  
“Ah Y/N, so when’s that dinner you promised me?” You heard Bass’ cheeky tone and smiled.  
“Whenever you want,” You laughed, “Glad to hear you’re alive.”  
“Oh well, it’s not everyday you get to work for both MI5 and MI6 on one assignment.” Charles spoke.  
“It’s not everyday your targets threaten my city with nuclear weapons.” You smiled. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I might have to go kill Sherlock. See you soon Charles.”


End file.
